


Faded and Vague

by esama



Series: Sweet Eternity [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Vampire Hunter D
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Human Experimentation, Immortality, Light Angst, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Memory Loss, Past Torture, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Ten thousand years would take a toll on anyone's memory.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed  
> Very vaguely sidles along canon

"We're not open yet," Harry calls as the door bell chimes with the arrival of a very early customer. The sun isn't even up yet from what he can see through the dirt tainted windows and he hasn't even started setting up the shop into any sort of shape ready to receive people – never mind getting so much as a coffee pot going.

It had been a rowdy night before, a full house of drunken idiots – and with Tessa skipping from work again claiming sick, Harry is alone minding the Cauldron. He'd need to let her go soon, if this kept up – and find a bit more reliable replacement.

There is no second chime of the door being opened again and with a shake of his head Harry sets the tin of coffee down to turn to face whoever just entered. He's expecting Mr. Arakan, but it's not the business man – it's a stranger, definitely no one from around these parts. Black cloak, black hat, black everything – not exactly common at their dust bowl of a town.

 

"We're not open," Harry says again, looking the man up and down. Sword in his back, collar that goes nearly up to his nose, well worn boots – hmm. Traveller. Maybe even a hunter. "I have nothing to serve you with, if you're looking for your breakfast."

"You're Harry Potter – you employ Tessa Sinome?"

Harry blinks at the cool tone. "Yes," he agrees slowly. "For now anyway – she hasn't been around enough to really justify the pay I give her. What about it?"

The stranger steps closer, his steps nearly silent on the old wooden floor as he steps to the light. He's pale under his wide brimmed hat – pale and almost unnervingly pretty, with long dark hair that falls in waves over his shoulders, down his back. _Definitely_ no one Harry knows – he'd surely remember. Then the stranger speaks again, and Harry completely forgets his face. "She's dead."

"... What?"

"She was found dead in her apartment this morning," the stranger says. "They said you might know about it."

"I – what? Tessa's dead?" Harry asks incredulously. "She was fine the last I saw her – well she claimed she was ill, but -"

"Ill?" the man in black asks.

"Tessa's dead?" Harry asks again and leans against the bar counter. Shit. Hadn't he just hired her? What was it – last month? No, last year? Shit, had he gotten distracted again – how long has it been?

"She claimed she was ill?" The man in black asks, eying him coolly.

"Um, yeah, she's been skipping work for – uh, couple of weeks?" Harry asks and turns to check the calendar, just in case he's lost track of years. No, it's the right year, he hasn't lost track. He's only been here for five or so years – which means he's only hired her for about three?

"How did she look?"

Harry frowns and turns to the stranger. "Not that ill really – who are you?" he then asks and straightens his back. "And what's all this to you – you're definitely not from around here, not in that get up."

The stranger is quiet for a moment before looking away, at the windows. Sun's first rays are hitting the bottom of the dirty window panes now. "I was passing through when they brought her body out. It piqued my interest – and when I asked about her, they told me to ask you."

Harry eyes him and then shakes his head. "Shit," he mutters. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now – Tessa's got no family here. If she's dead -" he hesitates at the counter and then shakes his head. "I should go and see if there's something I can do."

He turns to the stove to turn it off, doing the same with the coffee machine before quickly putting the lid back to the coffee grinds. When he turns to get his coat, he finds the stranger still there, watching him.

"The door is right there," Harry motions, as he shrugs his coat on. "I'm pretty sure you know it's there – you just used it. Feel free to use it again."

"She was killed by a vampire."

Harry stops. "What?" he asks again, his mind grinding to a halt.

"The girl, Tessa Simone, was killed by a vampire," the stranger says, watching him closely.

Harry stares at him, trying desperately to keep up. He's still stuck in the idea that Tessa is dead at all – now she's killed by a vampire? What? "There are no vampires here," he says slowly.

"And yet one of them killed her," the stranger says coolly.

Harry waits and then shakes his head. "I'm going to see her," he mutters and then tries to push the man towards the door by the shoulder – the guy doesn't as much as budge. It's like trying to push a brick wall. "Get out of my shop, please," Harry says with some frustration.

It takes a moment but the stranger moves – like a statue, coming to live. He steps ahead of Harry out of the shop and then looks down at him as Harry locks the door and engages the security.

They would've taken the body to the clinic, Harry thinks and then turns to head that way, ignoring the stranger – at least until he realises the man follows him. "Is there something I can do for you?" Harry asks, irritated and feeling a little harangued now. It's hard to keep track of things – he's not so good with surprises these days – and trying to keep his thoughts in order is hard enough with Tessa's death – by a vampire of all things – without this... person shadowing him.

"You said she was ill."

"I said she claimed she was ill," Harry answers, waving a hand. "She didn't look ill – a little pale, maybe, but she worked the evening shift mostly, she was always a little pale." Or was she? He's not so sure now. He might've not paid as much attention as he should have.

The stranger looks at him and then glances towards the raising sun and then back at Harry. Harry frowns at him with confusion, peers at the sun's direction and then shakes his head. Whatever.

He hurries on towards the clinic, the stranger following close behind him.

There's a small crowd of people by the clinic, trying to peer in through the windows – much cleaner than Harry's windows are, and thus clear enough to see through. There's the Deputy, hanging by the door way, keeping people out – until he sees Harry.

"Potter!" she calls and waves at him. "Come here, the Sheriff wants a word with you. He with you?"

She points at the stranger in black.

"I – don't know," Harry admits and shakes his head. "He told me about Tessa – is it true, is she -?"

The deputy – he can't remember her name, started with an A or something – looks at him, and then at the stranger behind him. "Go on," she then says. "They'll be in the back."

Harry goes in, ignoring the murmuring of the townspeople around him as he ducks around the deputy. The stranger in black follows – apparently he _is_ with Harry now.

The back of the clinic is a makeshift morgue – basically an office with high power cooler and few makeshift mortuary slabs. There, Harry finds the sheriff, there he finds the doctor – and there he finds his employee, lying dead and naked on one of the said makeshift mortuary slabs.

"Oh," Harry says. She looks... younger than he'd been expecting. He's used to people dying older than this – young and old, it's all the same to him, but she can't be thirty yet. She was pretty too, though death had slackened her features out of her usual shapely smiles.

She used to put wild flowers in her hair, Harry thinks, when she could find them.

"Mr. Potter," the Sheriff says, in tones of mingled regret and sternness. "I'm sorry for your loss but you understand I have to ask – when did you see Tessa last?"

"The day before yesterday," Harry says – he's pretty sure that's right anyway. She hadn't been in yesterday, after all. "She came in to beg off from work, she said she wasn't feeling well."

"Did you notice anything strange about her?"

Harry shakes his head. He doesn't... pay that much attention to people anymore. It's easier on the long run – though, her skipping work had been getting annoying. "It was a bit strange that she was sick so often, lately – she's been pretty healthy while she's been working for me. I thought she caught a bug or something, though. I didn't think much about it, to be honest."

Had he been sympathetic with her? Told her to rest and recover – or had he been irritated, told her to walk it off? He can't remember now. She's dead now – her slack face melting into hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of other dead people that vie for attention in Harry's head.

Harry looks away, frowning. "He said," he turns to the black clad stranger – seriously, who wears black in this heat? "He said Tessa was killed by a vampire."

"Hmm," the sheriff says and turns to the doctor – and elder woman with white hair done up in a bun, and glasses so thick they make her look owlish. "Doctor?"

"She died of blood loss, that's for sure," the woman says, prodding at Tessa's bare neck, the puncture marks there. "But it wasn't all in one go – there's multiple marks her, overlapping each other – see," she turns to grab a magnifying glass, holding it out for Harry.

Somewhat woodenly, he accepts the thing, and then bends down to eye his dead employee's neck through it.

"You can see here, where parts of the wounds have started healing," the doctor says. "The first marks are about two weeks old, I'd say."

Harry shakes his head and sets the magnifying glass down. Two and half is bit more likely, he thinks distractedly – there's six sets of overlapping marks, like rings around the newest punctures, getting increasingly red and inflamed towards the centre. The distance between the marks indicates adult, male more likely than female – and they didn't bite in deep. The wounds were shallow, just barely deep enough to reach the artery.

They'd been stretching her out.

Harry runs a hand over his forehead. It's already starting to ache and he didn't even _do_ anything.

"Mr. Potter?" The sheriff asks. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah, it's -" Harry says and shakes his head, turning to the man. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I asked if you've seen anything unusual, anything suspicious. There's no Nobility in these parts, haven't been for decades – and if there's someone new in town, you'd be the first to know," the Sheriff says and folds his arms. "And chances are whoever got to Tessa might've met her through your place."

"Travellers come and go," Harry admits and tries to think. People are like a never ending flood to him – he can't keep hold of faces. Did he see someone strange or suspicious? He has no idea. Did it seem like Tessa had maybe met someone, someone she might've entertained at night? He has no idea about that either.

"Did her neighbours see anything?"

It's the black clad stranger talking now.

"I'm sorry – who are you?" the sheriff asks. "I think I saw you before – he with you, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't know," Harry sighs and falls to sit on near by rickety bench, running hands through his hair. Tessa is still dead on the mortuary slab, her skin going grey.

Fuck his head is aching now.

"Well, stranger?" the Sheriff asks with a frown.

There's a moment of silence, during which Harry can feel the man staring at him. "I'm a vampire hunter," the stranger says finally, and nothing more.

The sheriff frowns, expecting him to continue. "Well, we've not hired you on," he says and looks at Harry. "Mr. Potter, have you employed this man?"

"Have I?" Harry asks and looks up at the man. He doesn't look like someone Harry might hire – but there's a Vampire and he's a vampire hunter and Harry's employee is dead – it makes logical sense he might've hired the guy. "I think I might have – I'm sorry, I'm having bit of a hard time here – Tessa was..."

"Perfectly understandable," the doctor says and pats Harry on the shoulder with a wrinkled hand. She has a mole on her middle finger, and Harry frowns at it. "There now, Mr. Potter, you just sit there for a moment – I'll get you something for your nerves."

Harry feels momentary twinge of longing – Fire whiskey, he'd like some of that right about now – but just nods. Moment later, she puts a glass in his hand, and pill in the other – he takes the pill and washes it down with the water without complaint.

It won't work, he knows, but sometimes it helps to pretend.

"Thank you," he says and looks at Tessa again, feeling completely at loss about what to do with this. He hadn't even been that close to the girl – she ran the register well and waited tables with flirty efficiency, he'd like that about her. But he hadn't really known her. She used to have flowers in her hair, didn't she?

Shit.

"About her neighbours," the vampire hunter says again after moment of silence.

"Didn't see anything, didn't hear anything, and didn't care until she turned up dead," the Sheriff admits. "She lived in Coalfront district – people down there mind their own business."

"Coalfront?"

"Old apartments for the miners, back when there was still coal left to mine," the sheriff shrugs. "Not much there anymore, but drunks and wastrels. The woman might've been butchered with a chain saw, and no one would've given rat's ass except to complain about the noise."

Harry looks down at Tessa in something of a stupor now and then glances up at the vampire hunter. The man doesn't look at him.

The sheriff looks from the vampire hunter down to Harry. "Well," he says. "I can't say I'm happy to have a vampire in the town – we've seen neither hide nor hair of a Noble in a good generation and more. But if you really are a vampire hunter," he says, turning to the stranger. "And know your business, then I'm glad to have you in the town. Especially if Mr. Potter hired you. Anything I can do to help?"

"I'd like to see the apartment," the vampire hunter says.

"I'll see that the manager will let you in, then," the sheriff says and looks at Harry again. "Best you take your employer off now, though. He doesn't look too good."

And then they're out, walking back towards Harry's bar, Harry trying to shake himself out of his memories while the Vampire Hunter paces with him silently in the dusty street.

"How much did I hire you for?" Harry asks worriedly. He's pretty sure he doesn't have much – enough to manage and live a comfortable life, but he's not exactly rich enough to be hiring hunters these days.

"You didn't."

"... what?"

"You didn't hire me," the vampire hunter says and looks down at him. "Your memory fails you, doesn't it?"

Harry looks at him for a moment, trying to gauge how insulting he's being – but it's just a statement, nothing more. "I'm not good with surprises," Harry mutters and runs his hands through his hair. "I get – tangled up."

The vampire hunter eyes him with coolly thoughtful look and then looks ahead again. "I see," is all he says.

Harry frowns at him. "I don't think I have enough to hire you," he says then dubiously. "I'm not even sure why I would, to be honest."

The vampire hunter glances at him. "Your employee was killed by a vampire. Don't you care?"

Harry shrugs. "I care – but I don't need a hunter to deal with it."

That catches the vampire hunter's interest and he turns to face Harry more fully. He doesn't say anything, but Harry has his full attention now – and it's really something. The guy is... something else under his hat and behind his high collar.

Harry looks away awkwardly and rubs at his forehead. The ache is passing by now – the memories are receding. "Okay, listen – you want a cup of coffee or something? Because I could really use some tea right about now."

The vampire hunter doesn't say anything for a moment; his expression doesn't shift – had it changed at all since they've been talking? Harry can't recall. "We should see to the apartment."

"Right," Harry says and sighs. "It's on the other side of town – we'll need a ride."

"I have a horse," the vampire hunter says.

"Right," Harry answers again, frowning, and for a moment thinks of things no longer around. Like actual horses. These days, a horse is something very different from what it used to be. Merlin, this is a bad day, isn't it – his head is starting to throb now. "Well, I have a motorcycle. I guess I'll race you there."

The hunter glances at him. "I don't know where the apartment is," he says then.

Harry takes a breath and then sighs. "Fine, we'll take the horse. Lead the way – uh, you got a name?"

"...D."

"Okay, sure," Harry agrees. At least it was easy to remember, even for him. "I'm Harry. Nice to meet you and everything."

"Hm," the vampire hunter answers, and leads Harry to his cyborg horse.

* * *

 

Tessa's apartment is... an apartment. Harry scratches at the back of his head at all the laundry strewn on the floor – the bra hanging from the door knob, the shirt thrown over a fan. There are socks everywhere and he almost trips over a sandal that's, for some reason, discarded in front of the kitchen door. The place is a mess – but it looks like Tessa's mess, not something an intruder might've caused.

She had wild flowers hanging from the window frame, drying up in the sun. Harry stares at them listlessly while the vampire hunter eyes her bedroom.

"No blood," the man comments. "Not even a drop. His attacker was neat."

"That's really comforting, that is, near vampire," Harry mutters and runs a hand over his face. He can't remember the last time he'd visited someone else's house. He'd somehow forgotten that people had... even outside his limited world view – they had habits and made messes and lived their messy short lives, even when he wasn't looking.

That's bit narcissistic, isn't it? Or, what was it, dissociative? Antisocial? Self-centric? Damn he can't remember. It's rude anyway. Of course people were people even when he wasn't paying attention to them.

His headache is not improving his ability to think much.

"They were very careful with her – saving her blood for as long as they could," D says. "Not a blood crazed vampire, this one."

"Hmm," Harry agrees and shakes his head. Focus, you old idiot. "Do you think it was accident?"

"Inevitable one," D admits. "Vampires who can stop once they've had a taste of blood they like enough to savour it and then return for seconds... they are rare. But they didn't try to turn her into one of their kind – or rather, went through efforts to ensure she wouldn't be turned. That is interesting."

Harry nods slowly, frowning and rubbing the skin between his brows. A vampire who tried to not to kill for as long as they could, made sure not to turn their victim into a vampire... that's almost humane. It's also old fashioned. "Weird," he mutters confusedly. "Noble like that would be using synthetic blood, wouldn't they?"

That makes D turn to look at him. "What makes you say that?"

"No new Noble did this – they don't have the restraint, they wouldn't be able to stop, never mind be neat about it. It almost looks like he did the minimum possible damage," Harry explains. "And the old ones have access to all sorts of things. Synthetic blood is the least of it. Why didn't he use it?"

D eyes him for a moment searchingly and then looks away. "Maybe he didn't have an access to it."

"Hm. I guess this place is pretty removed from anything," Harry mutters and looks around again.

There's nothing really useful around in Tessa's apartment. No sign of anyone intruding, anyway – though the window locks are all open, so it's not like anyone who could fly or at least climb a wall with any skill would've needed to break in. All they needed to do was shimmy a window open and they were in.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs, turning to D. "Can you see anything useful?"

D looks at the bedroom again and then shakes his head. "They were too meticulously clean about it," he says. "There's nothing here."

"Yeah," Harry sighs and turns away. "I'm leaving. This place is giving me a headache."

D follows him, casting one last glance at Tessa's bathroom before closing the door after him, and locking the apartment behind him. There are people peeking out of their apartments curiously when they enter the hall, one even asks them if they, "See any blood in there?"

"Did you see anything?" D asks in return.

"Didn't see no nothing, nor hear it either," the man answers and scratches at his hairy belly where it sticks out from under his stretched shirt. "Quiet as a mouse, that girl was. Had some trouble with a fella down a floor – Jay or something, I dunno his name. He was in a right rut over her, lemme tell you. He might've spotted something, the way he panted over her."

They go down a floor, to see Jay or something. Jay or something is a skinny streak of nothing of a man, with scraggly little beard and bloodshot eyes. "Yea, whaddya want?" he slurs at them, when D knocks at his door.

"Tessa Sinome," D says simply.

"Fucking shame," Jay answers. "But I got nothing do with it. I didn't even see her in days, before they carried her off, all cold and stiff. They're saying it was Noble that did it – that true? There's a fucking Noble in town?"

Harry looks at the guy – thinks he might've visited his bar time or two dozen. He might've thrown the man out once, even. The guy stinks of beer and worse things, and looks like he might've made a mess of himself at some point.

Definitely not a neat guy, this one.

"Thank you for your help," D says and turns to leave.

"Oi, wait, you didn't answer my fucking question – is there a fucking vampire in town?"

"It tends to take a vampire to kill someone by a vampire bite," Harry comments.

"Fucking vampires," Jay – or something – says and spits at the corridor. "If I get my hands on that fucking bastard, I'm going to wring his fucking neck for touching my Tessa, that fucking ..."

Harry walks away with a shake of his head.

"The people here..." D says and then trails off.

"There's probably like two people alive here who have ever seen a Noble," Harry shrugs. "They're ignorant – not brave."

"Hm," D answers, not quite in agreement and they step out of the apartment building and into the sunlight. They're quiet for a moment before the vampire hunter turns to look down at Harry.

"Tea?" Harry offers.

D considers him coolly for a while. "Before I take that offer... do you know me?"

Harry arches his eyebrows and then pauses. The man's expression hasn't changed a bit – but there's something about him that seems to be expecting something. "You know me," Harry says slowly.

"You don't remember, do you?" D asks.

Harry frowns at him and _tries_ to remember. There is something familiar about D, something about the cape he's wearing, the hat, the sword. In the end he's forced to shake his head. "Sorry," he says finally. "My memory isn't that reliable. I take it we've met before, then."

D is quiet for a moment, waiting. Then he looks away. "Well, since you don't remember – I'm a dhampir. If you don't mind that, then yes, I would like some tea."

Harry frowns. "Huh," he mutters. Another thing to wrap his head around, somehow. Wonderful. Then Harry shakes his head. "Yeah, it's fine, I don't really care. Let's go."

It doesn't dawn on him until they've already mounted the robot horse – dhampirs don't age. "Um, when exactly did we meet?" Harry asks worriedly.

"Which time?" D asks and without waiting for an answer sets the horse galloping.


	2. Chapter 2

If it wasn't for calendars and the fact that the Nobility had, for reasons that never made much sense to Harry, stuck to the Gregorian one after they took over, Harry could've lost the track of years long ago.

The first couple of hundred of years had been easy, in a relative sense. Everyone he'd ever known had lived, grown old and died while he remained more or less the same, and that's a pain he carries to this day – but back then his mind had still been reliable. It had gotten harder after that. Human mind can barely handle a hundred years of knowledge – and Harry got more and more added in as the years wore on.

It seems now, after so many millennia, that the horror of immortality came and went in a flash – it didn't, though. He spent years, decades, eventually centuries, trying to figure it out and get out of it. He's always known the source, of course, but not the actual method. He wasn't like any other thing that aged. He wasn't like vampires who aged up in power, growing greater as time went on. He wasn't like werewolves, who granted they had a pack to rely on could keep going for centuries, growing... denser in their strength. He wasn't like the Faerie, who faded into immortality like into house of mirrors and became endless, increasingly confusing reflections of themselves.

Harry was and remained human. He bled, got sick, he had to eat, sleep, shit... nothing changed, really. Except that he couldn't age and couldn't die. And he did try that, dying. He tried it so many times that sometimes he wonders if that was the cause of the memory problems. You could deprive your brain of oxygen only for so long before there was brain damage.

Harry didn't scar anymore either, not really. Momentarily, yes, but give it a century or two and the damage would be gone. It was the same with his brain, in the end. It eventually returned to its original state, even if you took chunks out of it. He'd tried that too.

There was nothing in his blood that explained it, nothing in his magic, no mechanism, no chemical, no curse or spell, nothing he could explain, nothing he could get rid off. He just was, and remained, and could do nothing about it.

In five two hundred years, he started forgetting details of the last five. Five hundred more and he stopped being able to remember faces and names of people he met last week. Thousand after that, and the only way he could hang onto things for longer than few days was through endless repetition – keeping the days as similar as each other for as long as he could. Daily routine, that was the only way he could live normally.

There are entire centuries he can't remember anything about, just holes the size of continents in his head. Sometimes that seems like a blessing, like temporary death and oblivion. If he can't remember it, after all... did it even happen?

And even then, something would remind him and then things would jump at him with all the power of a tidal wave consuming an entire coastal city. Faces he thought he forgot, people he couldn't recall names off, endless stream of deaths and losses and things half remembered would consume him. That was the worse bit about the whole thing – because it wasn't even something he could use. Just a flood of meaningless, painful flashbacks that didn't mean anything.

All he could do, really, was endure.

* * *

 

Harry makes tea while D sits by the counter, watching him silently. The dhampir is harder to ignore now that Harry knows what he is. He's gotten used to ignoring whatever aura people – monsters, demons, mutants, whatever – emit, but when he knows the source...

Dhampir feels like a vampire. And D feels like a Noble of old.

And he still hasn't answered Harry about how long ago they met. It could've been ten years ago, it could've been thousand – and Harry wouldn't be able to tell.

Nothing good comes from people knowing he's immortal and still human, though. He can't remember any specific events of it happening – but he knows it was never pretty.

"Here," Harry says, after pouring the tea. He sets the cup – the rough, fake porcelain slightly chipped at the edge. "Redcoast Re-synthesis, best tea of the house. You want milk, sugar, honey...?"

"Thank you," the Dhampir answers but doesn't touch the cup, just looks at it. Harry waits. When the hunter says nothing else, Harry shrugs and turns to pour himself a cup.

Then, after moment of thought, he rummages through his pockets. He runs into the pill bottle in his back pocket – it's almost empty. Just half a dozen left now.

D watches him silently as he knocks one of the pills back and washes it down with the tea. "You're still using those."

Harry glances at him and then turns to the counter fully, setting his own tea cup down on it. "When did we meet?" he asks, while the condescended potion slowly starts having an effect on him.

D looks at him, his eyes flicking between Harry's eyes. "Two hundred years ago," he says then. "A village called Byernmoat."

It doesn't ring a bell – but then, two hundred years... that's as good as never, as far as Harry is concerned. "Right," he says and pulls a stool to himself, to sit down. He eyes his tea and then stirs it slowly – there are fine bits of tea leaves in it.

"You had memory problems then too," D says, his tone still cool. He doesn't really even sound interested, or affected – but he's still there, and prodding Harry along, so he has to be.

"I've had memory problems for a long time," Harry answers and sips his tea. Bitter, he thinks. It's always bitter these days. "It's nothing new."

"And the immortality?" D asks, watching him.

Harry shrugs and looks away. "How did we meet?" he asks instead of answering.

D doesn't say anything for a long time, just watches him. "I was hired by the town to look into case with some of the town's children – it seemed they'd become affected by a vampire. You were a teacher – most of the children were your students."

Harry frowns. "Teacher," he repeats incredulously. "Me?" he can barely function enough to keep Cauldron running – trying to manage a classroom...

D doesn't answer for a while, watching him closely. "I thought you were merely human," he says. "But here you are – and you haven't aged a day."

"A teacher," Harry mutters and rubs at his forehead. The potion – the pill – is having an effect now, his head feels little clearer. He still can't remember but at least he can think straight – and thinking straight he doesn't know if he's heard anything more ridiculous. Him, a teacher. Maybe ten thousand years ago, but nowadays...

"And the other times?" Harry asks. "You said we met again."

"Few years later, yes," D says. "In another town. I assumed you lost your job as a teacher – you were looking for employment with a construction company."

Harry stares at him and then laughs. Merlin, that's somehow even worse. "Please tell me I didn't get it," he says a bit desperately. Anything build by him would end up missing half of it's pieces, probably.

D doesn't seem amused though. "Do you have Noble blood in you?" he asks.

Harry's smile fades a bit at that and he looks up at the dhampir. Then he looks away, frowning now.

He's pretty sure he's tried that too – becoming a vampire. At least it makes sense that he would've tried it – vampire brains worked different from human brains. If he could become a vampire, part of the Nobility, then maybe...

He has the feeling it hadn't stuck any more than scars did.

"You're not a vampire," D says. "You walk out in sunlight. But then, so do I."

"I'm not a dhampir," Harry answers, a little regretfully. If only he was. "Is that why you're so interested – you think I killed Tessa?"

The vampire hunter doesn't say anything for a moment. Like statue turning, he shifts his attention to the cup of tea, and then takes it in hand. "Perhaps not knowingly. But like said… you have memory problems."

Harry stares at him incredulously for a moment and then shakes his head, a bit amused now. "Ask around," he says. "I've lived here for five years – Tessa worked for me three of them. And in that time, there have been no other incidents with vampires."

D doesn't answer as takes an almost dainty sip of the tea. His expression doesn't as much as twitch at the bitterness of it. He's still staring at Harry.

Harry looks back, leaning his chin to his palm and digging his finger tips to his temple. Dhampirs can eat, he thinks. They even have to, on occasion. He's pretty sure it's not pleasant for them though. "Can you taste anything?" he asks curiously.

"Why?" D asks. "You won't remember the answer in a week."

"I'm curious now," Harry shrugs.

The dhampir sets the cup down and doesn't answer the question. "The fact that Tessa Sinome was drained of blood over several days indicates the vampire's stay is a prolonged one," he says. "In three days, perhaps less, they might choose another victim."

Harry hums in agreement, eyeing him. He still can't remember the man's face – which is bit of a pity, really. It's one hell of a face. He can't recall anything about the man. But he has a feeling, a sort of... assurance.

He retains knowledge better than people and events – facts stick. And fact is, the dhampir is damn good at his job. And Harry doesn't get the sense of distrust when he looks at him – so, maybe, he'd trusted the guy once.

And seeing that the guy suspects him of committing crimes unknowingly... he'd probably be shadowing Harry, at least for few days, so...

"You want a place to stay?" Harry offers. "I'm not hiring you, just so we're clear – I don't have that kind of money. But you can have room, as much to eat as you like per day -" which, seeing that the guy was dhampir, wouldn't be much and thus wouldn't strain his funds, "And you can keep your horse in the back, by my garage. Its no a stable, but its free."

D considers him coolly for a moment and then nods. "I'd appreciate it," he says and looks down at the tea. Then he glances at Harry. "Will you remember this discussion tomorrow?"

"I won't have to," Harry says and leans back. Snap of his fingers opens the lock box under the counter, and from it he takes out a book and a pen. "We have this wonderful thing called writing – it can remember for me."

"Ah," D says and watches with apparent disinterest as Harry leafs through his notebook to the last written page, and separates the previous items with a line across the page and then writes out the date, the time, and then what change's happened to his life.

_12087, May 24th._

_Tessa died yesterday – suspected vampire attack over aprox 20 days._  
_Met a dhampir vampire hunter – D. Did not hire – he's staying for free. Knows me from 200 years ago. Friendly._  
_Wit Sharpening down to 5 pills now._

Harry considers the lines he wrote, tapping his pen against the page. Then he writes out fourth line.

_Start preparing for a move on._

He's been here for five years, after all and now he's in something of a spotlight with Tessa. People would start noticing the lack of aging soon.

"Friendly?" D asks coolly.

"Are you going to try and dissect me?" Harry asks. The Dhampir doesn't answer but something about his face goes a little tight and Harry nods in satisfaction. "Friendly."

* * *

 

There was a time Harry used to keep a bigger journal – or hundreds of them, rather. He has a note of it at the start of every new notebook he begins, the number of journals he has, and the locations he's hidden them, written out in language that no one speaks anymore – early 21st century English.

The first note at the start of every book is always the same _Journals 1-634 from years 1998-4425, Hogwarts_ and nothing more. A whole library of books he's written that he can't remember much about – though he can remember the first twenty or so, written at the very beginning of his life, when he'd been less than a century old.

Someone had told him that human memory is unreliable the longer you go on, that it self edits, misremembers, and eventually gets all details wrong. It was probably Hermione who said that. When Harry had realised that Death wasn't coming for him... he started writing everything down. Especially the supposedly important bits.

His history, the First and Second Wizarding Wars, the the Prophesy, his Hogwarts years... Voldemort. He'd dedicated entire books to them alone – some of them might have even gotten published, now that he thinks about it.

Then he'd written down daily events, things he did, learned, wanted to do. What he did with friends and family that day, what happened in the news, what stunt the Ministry was pulling this time. He'd probably gotten even more zealous about it when he finally started remembering this wrong – and when he started not remembering at all.

Now it all is just so pointless. What do important events from ten thousand years ago matter now, who cares about them now? No one. Harry's not really sure if even he wants to remember, now a days.

Those are the years he remembers the best, though – when he lost the most.

* * *

 

Harry shows D to the room and leaves him to it in order to finally open Cauldron for customers. He's still running on the Wit Sharpening potion, and has thus little easier time getting everything down in time – coffee machine, tea pot, starting out on breakfast foods, heating up frozen goods to put on display, so on and so on. The routine is, for now at least, ingrained into his habits and he goes through the motions with rehearsed ease.

Had he had this sort of routine with teaching? He would've had to teach everything from books and written notes, of course, maybe slides if the place had access to that sort of machinery. Still, it seems ludicrous. Teacher had to go through different subjects – he would've probably gotten stuck to same handful of subjects, repeating them over and over.

Well, maybe he had more extensive notes back then. Or an assistant, someone to remind him what to move onto next.

Harry sets the chairs and benches down onto the floor, looks over his bar and then heads to flip the sign around, officially opening the place. It's still pretty early in the morning – it's not yet eight – so he's not expecting to see anyone.

D comes down to the bar before there's a sign of a first customer.

"You need anything?" Harry asks.

"This town," D says. "Tell me about it."

Harry hums and leans his elbows onto the counter. "I don't really know much about the history. I've only been here for so long and I don't really bother to get to know these places. It's a frontier town, same as any other, too far removed from anything and too damn dry to be any use to anyone. Used to have a coal mine, which is why it's here at all, but that dried up about ten years ago. People have been moving out ever since. That's about all I know, really."

D considers him silently for a moment and then turns. "I'll be back later."

"Alright, see you then," Harry says with a shake of his head. He watches as the dhampir leaves and then stares at the unmoving door for a bit.

Then, after moment of thought, he takes out his notebook again, leafing through to the start.

The first entry is from year 12068. Too early to have any notes on the dhampir, then. Damn.

Now that he's getting more used to the idea of D, he gets the impression he's forgotten something... very important about the guy.

* * *

 

The first customer Harry gets that day immediately asks about Tessa. The word had gone out, it seems – and in small little town like theirs where nothing much ever happened, any death was big news. Murder by a Noble?

It would be talked about for years.

"It really was a vampire?" they ask while Harry serves them coffee and pie. "One of the Nobles?"

"I guess" Harry shrugs and frowns. Had he seen her? He can't remember now.

"And you hired a vampire hunter?" another customer asks eagerly. Male, early thirties – regular. Harry has no idea what his name is.

"Damn good luck for a vampire hunter to appear when a vampire attacks," another says, another male, about the same age – the pair been having coffee together in Harry's place for years. Harry doesn't know his name either.

"Bit suspicious do you think?" the first asks. "We get a vampire attack and vampire hunter, at the same time."

Harry wanders off, ignoring them, frowning a little. It's already getting a little murky in his head, but he's pretty sure he hadn't actually hired D. Just offered him a room. Yeah, that sounds more like it – it's not like he'd need a vampire hunter.

Tessa though... dead by a vampire – and she was his employee. Should he do something about that...? He usually doesn't, at least he doesn't think he does – people come and go, live and die. It's not like he can do much about that. But she'd been killed, and he doesn't think being bitten by a vampire is the way she would've liked to go.

Though, who knows? He recalls vaguely it being one hell of a way to go – even if it never stuck.

Sighing Harry sets the coffee pot he'd been carrying back onto the hot plate and then pushes the thought aside before it could give him a head ache. It's about time he starts preparing for lunch hour anyway.

The doctor comes in just as Harry is finished setting up the lunch bar – basically just a tray with various pots and pans on it for people take their pick of the available goods. She picks her usual – healthy helping of the protein mush with a glass of juice on side. She always eats the same thing – it's a practice Harry can appreciate.

"I've done some tests," the doctor tells him as she sits down to eat by the counter – variation from her usual habits. Harry eyes her with confusion and she sighs. "On Tessa Sinome. Her body is in the morgue, Mr. Potter, remember?"

"Oh," Harry says. "Yeah, right – sorry. It's been bit of a hectic morning."

"Yeah, I bet it has," she says and digs her spoon into the mush. "I took samples of the puncture marks on her neck – I couldn't find any foreign substances in them. I barely found any blood at all, really."

Harry frowns. "Well, she was killed by a vampire..." he says slowly.

"There would be saliva on her wounds, then. And there wasn't," she says and then takes something from under the label of her coat – a folded sheet of paper. "On a hunch I decided to do a little digging and I found this."

Its macro photograph taken of Tessa's wounds – or rather, the incision the doctor had made into them. She's cut the wounds vertically and then spread it out, to make a sort cross cut of the bite. Harry takes in the picture and it feels a bit like a spike is being driven through his scull as his cogs slowly turns and he realities what he's looking at.

The bite marks hadn't gone deep at all – they'd barely pierced the skin. What had pierced not only skin but the flesh and all the way down into her artery were much thinner, longer puncture marks, made visible by the dark congealed blood still stuck in it, and the scar tissue already formed on some of them. Multiple needle punctures right into her artery.

Her blood had been drained with a needle – and then someone had faked a vampire's bite mark to cover the needle marks. A cover up.

"Why, though?" Harry mutters, setting the picture down. To cover up a murder? Who would cover up a murder with a Nobility's Kiss? And who would kill a girl like Tessa – she was a nobody, did no one any harm.

"That's the question isn't it?" the doctor says and then holds a hand when Harry makes to pushy the picture back. "Keep it – I've already shared this with the sheriff. I figured you'd want to show it to that vampire hunter of yours."

Harry blinks and then winces.

 _That vampire hunter of yours will be delicious. Why won't you..._ echoes in his head in a terrible inhuman voice, and then fades away again, each resounding echo hurting a little more.

"Mr. Potter?" the doctor says.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asks blearily. She eyes him worriedly and then glances down. He follows her gaze jerkily.

His fingers had convulsed into a fist – and he's completely crumbled the photograph in them.

"Shit – sorry, I – migraine," Harry says and quickly releases the picture. It doesn't look like he broke it, though, thank Merlin

The doctor eyes him silently for a moment. Then he reaches in, to check his forehead – and it takes Harry too long to realise what she's doing to even bother stopping her. She hums. "Hmm. You aren't running a fever and you don't seem to be in shock... but you really don't look too good, Mr. Potter. As your doctor I'd recommend you close the bar for the day and go lay down," she says slowly.

Harry looks at her and then at the bar. He doesn't like taking days off, it messes up his routine and he _needs_ his routine. But... "I think you might be right," he mutters guiltily. "I can't seem to function today."

The doctor smiles encouragingly. "You already do so much more than most people with such advanced case of dementia could ever manage. I think you're allowed a day off every now and then."

Harry nods and then sighs. "Did you learn anything else from Tessa?" he asks while the concept is still clear in his head.

"Nothing quite so significant, I'm afraid," the doctor admits. "If we figure out anything else, I'll send word for you. So as long as you do as I say, and go lie down."

* * *

 

Harry closes the bar after the lunch hour passes, shakily flipping the sign over. His head is still hurting, echoing with the remnants of that _voice_. He knows that voice. It rattles him to his bones. But he can't remember who it belongs to.

"Merlin damn it," he mutters and for a moment leans into the counter, trying not to throw up – or cry, or something. Stupid fucking human brain. He's not sure what he wants more – to remember who the speaker was, or not have remembered at all in the first place.

Memories he remembers after forgetting them once are the worst ones – coming and going without so much as by your leave or any hint of point of reference. So important and so _useless_.

_That vampire hunter of yours will be delicious. Why won't you..._

What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Why won't he _what_? And the voice said will be, rather than looks, or is – _will be_. There's an inevitability to that that makes Harry's blood run cold. _Will be delicious._

What the hell happened two hundred years ago?

Harry breathes in and out slowly and then looks at the picture he almost destroyed. After moment he takes out a pen and writes, " _Tessa's wound. No saliva in it. Apparently a cover up_ ," to the white edge of paper around the picture itself. Then leaves it onto the counter for D to find, if the vampire hunter comes back.

Who knows, maybe the man would then leave. Tessa wasn't killed by a vampire after all – so there's no need for a vampire hunter to stick around. D hadn't exactly said it, but he'd probably been just passing through, with no intention of sticking around. Maybe he'd just leave and take his headache inducing existence with him.

Somehow Harry doubts it though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upped rating, changed category, added tags, all the good stuff.

"Human, that's all I'm getting," a strange voice says somewhere above Harry. "Pure homebred human stock. Although..."

Memory? Harry opens his eyes under the cloth over his face – why is there a...? Oh, yeah, he laid down and put the cold wet cloth onto his face to try and beat back the headache. He must've fallen asleep.

"What," a deeper, slower voice – who the hell...

" _Pure_ human," the first voice says. "I don't suppose you'd let me have a bite of him?"

Frowning, Harry lifts his hand and pushes the cloth – now dry – off his face. It takes a moment for him to put everything into its place in his head – he's in his living room above the Cauldron, stretched out on the couch. There's a man all in black standing over him, sword hilt over his shoulder and long black cloak whispering against the floor. For a moment, Harry can't place his pale, pretty face.

"...D, wasn't it?" he then says, as his thoughts realign. "What are you doing?"

There's no sign of another speaker – did he imagine that? Or was it a memory?

"You closed the bar early," the man says, looking down on him without expression. He doesn't seem to be missing anyone, so Harry probably did imagine the other voice.

"Did I?" Harry asks and sits up with a sigh. Yeah he had. He'd been too damn scatterbrained to work. Probably would've let people go without paying their meals – had he? He isn't sure now. "Did I leave anything on, did you look? They should turn off by themselves but sometimes..."

"Everything was off," the vampire hunter says – right, a vampire hunter. Because Tessa. Except Tessa wasn't killed by a vampire?

Too many new things happening too fast, Harry thinks and sets the cloth onto the coffee table beside the couch. "Good," Harry says and just breathes for a moment, trying to catch up with everything. "There – there was a picture on the counter. I left it for you, I think."

D doesn't say anything – just takes the picture out from where ever he had it, under his cloak. He looks down to it coolly and then hands it to Harry – right, Tessa's wound, with the syringe marks – or needle marks anything, they might've used a cannula.

Harry eyes the incision in his dead employee's neck and tries to recall her face. He doesn't really remember the exact features – though he's pretty sure she'd been a looker. She had flowers in her hair, right? At least sometimes.

"I guess that's that then, for you?" Harry asks and sets the picture down beside the discarded cloth. "It wasn't a vampire, after all. So..."

"Hm," D answers. "I found the vampires."

Harry blinks at that and then looks up at him. "But – it wasn't a vampire?"

"The bloodletting was done by a mutant in their employ – a mothman," D answers and then moves back a little, towards the worn armchair on the other side of the coffee table. He takes off his long sword and sets it against the armchairs armrest before sitting down himself with all the elegance of a, well, Noble. "But it was done for vampires – pair of them. I found them in the coal mines."

Harry stares at him for a moment. "Did you...?" he trails off, prodding him.

D doesn't answer for a moment, just eying him. When he finally speaks it's once more without any inflection. "They're newly turned, but sensible. They didn't mean for the girl to die – it was the mothman, who didn't know he took too much of Tessa's blood," the hunter says and looks up at Harry.

"Alright..." Harry says slowly, frowning a little.

"I killed the mothman. The vampires got away in the tunnels," D finally admits, without hint of emotion – if he's annoyed or disappointed or even relieved, it doesn't show. "I believe they will try to leave the town tonight."

Harry eyes him for a long while, trying to gauge what he thinks, what he wants. "Are you going to go after them?"

"Without their servant they won't be able to get blood without going after it themselves," D says. "And they are both new. They won't have the restraint to stop. I will have to kill them."

Harry nods and looks away. He thinks maybe D wants a reaction from him, wants him to care. Harry kind of wants it too. "Right," he says after a moment and then gets up with a sigh. "I'm hungry; I'm going to make something to eat. Do you want any?"

D watches him go but doesn't answer and in the end Harry shrugs, heading to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

"Come on," he hears the other voice from before murmur. "He won't even remember it tomor – mfh!"

Harry frowns, trying to place the voice. It sounds a little bit familiar, somehow. But the familiarity flutters away from him the moment he tries to delve into it and in the end Harry just sighs and turns to get himself something to eat.

D is still there when he comes back with plate of sandwiches. "Help yourself," Harry says, setting it down on the table before sitting down on the couch again.

D looks at the plate but doesn't go for it. Instead he watches Harry from under the shadows of his hat, eyes ever so slightly narrowed.

"What?" Harry asks, grabbing a sandwich and leaning back.

"What are you?"

Harry arches his eyebrows at that and then lets them descend again. There is no humour on the hunter's face – if anything, he seems a little on the edge. "That's why you're still here, and not going after the vampires?"

D doesn't answer, doesn't even blink, just stares. The shadows make his eyes seem... unnaturally dark. Which is and isn't saying much, since the guy _is_ unnatural. There is something about him, though…

Harry tilts his head a little, now curious. "Take off the hat."

The silence stretches at that and after a while Harry wonders if he even said anything – if he just imagined and then forgot to actually put the thought into words. But then D moves, and slowly lifts the hat off, setting it onto the hilt of his sword instead.

His face... no, even now Harry can't remember it. But he remembers _something_. Someone else with that dark wavy hair, pale skin, straight nose and those thin, pinched lips – even those ridiculously long lashes look a little familiar.

Harry leans back slowly, trying to recall. How long was it, when was it... thousands of years ago, easily. Running a hand over his lips and looking away, Harry tries to put the thought in order – it had been a... a ball? A gala? Celebration of some kind. Thousands of people in a grand hall, all lit with candles – not Hogwarts, it was much bigger, much more grandiose. All stained glass windows and metals, enormous chandeliers above their heads...

Harry had been invited – it had been important enough that he'd even gone fully done up, in dress robes and everything. He remembers wizards and witches, gathering around him – not because of his fame though. They'd been afraid.

" _What do you think, Elder_ ," someone's voice from long ago. " _Do you think we have a chance_?"

"… _no. I don't_ ," Harry's own voice, firmer than it is now and bitterly angry. And then he'd looked up.

Up, at the golden, gothic throne on high marble pedestal that stood open the ballroom, and the man lounging there, looking bored except for the keen gleam of his red eyes. He'd been staring at Harry over the crowd and when their eyes met, he'd smiled with all the warmth of a glacier.

The newly crowned Vampire King – pale and beautiful, with long dark hair that fell in waves down his shoulders, with straight nose and thin lips. Just like D's.

Harry turns back to the vampire hunter and narrows his eyes. D isn't him – but he looks a lot like him. Only D is lot younger looking than Dracula had been even back then, some nine thousand years ago. Really, he doesn't loo older than eighteen, now that Harry can see his face clearly.

"...huh," Harry says and then gets up. D's eyes follow him silently as Harry wanders into the hall, where he has a mirror.

He looks much older than eighteen. His cheeks are hollow and his skin has a pale, yellow-grey tinge and the shadows under his eyes, the way his eyes are sunken into his face, add about twenty years to his face. He's obviously not eating enough, and definitely isn't getting enough vitamins. His hair is more or less the same though – a completely mess, sticking every which way.

He doesn't look like he did, before that gala when he'd stood in front of a mirror and put on his best. Back then his robes were black, tinged with gold – now he wears a faded shirt and worn trousers and he's not sure when he's washed them, never mind where he even got them. His glasses are cracked, a near invisible line running across the bottom of the left glass. Huh. He hadn't noticed that.

They called him the Last Lord of Magic, the Nobles – back before they hadn't been called Nobles yet. That came after.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry looks down, trying to settle his mind. Of all the things, why is this memory so sharp? A fucking party at the end of the world.

"You remember something?" D's voice asks from the living room, where the dhampir hasn't so much as moved.

"Nothing useful," Harry answers and lets his messy hair fall back to his face, where it's been almost covering his eyes and the broken glasses. He looks like complete stranger in the mirror. Someone he won't remember tomorrow. How long has he looked like this?

Harry sighs and shakes his head. "I'm heading down."

D doesn't say anything as Harry heads for the stairs leading down to the bar, leaving his sandwiches behind, nearly untouched.

* * *

 

It wasn't vampires who killed the world – it was humans. The wars they waged against themselves, against wizards, against the very world itself. It started from such a small thing, but then it escalated and escalated, from incidents and accidents to riots, to acts of terrorism, to bombings and finally, to _the_ bombs. Who's really to blame, Harry has no idea. In the end everyone was guilty – wizards more than most.

They came out from the nuclear winter better than muggles had – and the idea of taking control of the world after wasn't something unique to the vampires. Vampires were much better prepared for it, though – and wizards had been hit worse by the war. They were weaker.

And the whole of magical world was on the side of vampires. Not for them, not really – but _against_ wizards. Thousands of years of wizards reigning superior – and self righteous – over everything they consider lesser in the magical world... it hadn't made them many friends.

They lost the moment goblins sided with vampires, really, and they were only the first to jump to that camp. Hags, werewolves, giants, dwarves and even centaurs followed, and finally even merpeople sided with Children of the Night. In the end, all human wizards had were the house elves – and that only because of thousands years of systematic enslavement.

Wizards lost that war before they even realized it was a battle they should be fighting. The soon to be crowned Vampire King and his court swept the rug under them, and while Wizards were still high on the idea that muggles now numbered only in few scattered millions, that they now had chance to either eradicate them or reign over them as their supposedly rightful masters... the vampires claimed the Earth.

That gala, the Dawn of New Era they called it later, was the first time Harry met the vampire. It was there where he gave wizards official surrender to the vampires, and bowed his head soon-to-be Nobility and their Sacred Ancestor.

It was where the eradication of wizards began.

* * *

 

D waits out the day in Harry's little apartment, taking a nap or something in the room Harry had offered him – or who knows, maybe he has a blood capsule with him and is having a meal, Harry doesn't know. He isn't sure he really cares either – instead he heads down to check up on Cauldron and to see if he wrote anything useful into his notebook.

He's already forgotten half of the notes he made in the morning – and the one about starting to prepare to move on comes completely from the blue for him.

"But I guess it's about time," Harry mutters, leafing back through the book, checking on rest of his notes. Then he checks the calendar, just in case. Five years – usually he goes for ten but...

May 24th. Approaching end to the school year, back in Hogwarts. The professors would've started rolling out exams right about now, and fifth-years would've been going mental with OWLs – the seventh-years with NEWTs

Running a hand over his face Harry leafs to the beginning of the book. _Journals 1-634 from years 1998-4425, Hogwarts_.

Harry runs his thumb over the last word slowly, feeling the indention the writing had left on the old paper. He'd lived in Hogwarts for centuries, though he doesn't remember most of them. That was where the last of wizards had gone – the oldest standing magical structure left, which had only stood for so long because Harry had refused to let it be destroyed. Magical people from all around the world had made their final pilgrimage there.

It was there, where the last of them had died.

Harry doesn't know if the castle is still there – he'd done all he could protect it, to hide and defend it, but what does that even mean these days. Last he'd seen it, it had been surrounded by endless graveyard he'd dug around it, countless of dead wizards and witches buried into grounds where schoolchildren had once played. Chances are they surround ruins now.

Taking a breath that rattles wetly in his nose, Harry closes his notebook and then his eyes, trying to force the memories back. None of it matters now – wizard kind has been gone longer than it had reigned. And he doesn't know what the Vampire King did – but even muggleborns aren't really wizards these days.

There's nothing left of Harry's kind – except him. And if he could, he'd trade all those useless, painful memories away just for the chance to retain the last _week_ in his mind.

"I'm going out."

Harry looks up, at D who is just stepping into the bar from the backroom, where the stairs lead up to the apartment above. "Going after the vampires?"

"Yes," the vampire hunter says and looks at him. "I'll be back before midnight."

"Right, sure," Harry says and runs a shaky hand over his face. "Thanks for telling me. I probably won't remember."

It almost looks like D has a reaction to that – Harry thinks for a moment he actually amused the man. It's gone before he can tell for sure – and soon after is so is D, disappeared through the front door and into the early night.

Harry looks after him and wonders about his relation to the Nobility's Secret Ancestor. The Vampire king might've not personally put wizards to death – but he definitely didn't lift a finger to stop his subjects from going after them, settling their grievances and grudges against any poor wizard who happened to be near and -

And it all happened thousands of years ago and it doesn't _matter_. The last wizards weren't killed – they died of old age and inbreeding, because they couldn't set a foot outside the castle without being attacked, and so withered away while Harry watched and couldn't do anything to stop it and that doesn't matter anymore either.

Nobility's fallen the same way Wizards did – couple thousand years more, and they'd be extinct too, killed by their former subjects the same way wizards had been killed by theirs. And none of it means anything. Ten thousand years more and no one would remember any of them.

Especially not Harry.

Shaking his head at that morbid thought and hoping he'd forget he ever had it soon, Harry leans back to put the notebook back into the lock box. As he does, the doorbell chimes.

"Did you forget something?" Harry asks and looks up from the counter.

It's not D.

It's a woman in a somewhat ragged black and red dress, her dark hair coming out of its up do in messy strands. In the dim light above the counter, her face is deathly pale and her eyes gleam red.

"You – you're with that bastard," she says and bares her fangs. "That hunter bastard that killed my _husband_. You're with him, human, aren't you?!"

"Er," Harry says, confused – with D? Is he? Wasn't the Dhampir just staying with him –?

And then she's rushing at him at inhuman speed. One moment she's by the door – the next she's vaulting over the counter and reaching for him with her fingers like claws. Harry notes, almost confused, that her nails are blunt and painted red – the paint is cracking. Judging by the state of her, Harry has to wonder if she's in her funeral get up – if she'd been forced to climb out of her own grave.

It's a distraction he can't really afford.

She has him by the shoulders now and is drawing him in so fast it gives him whiplash Harry's fingers itch – he can almost feel it, the tingle of the magic, calling his tools to their Master's side, but he's too slow, moving like under water.

There's a sharp pain at his neck and Harry's fingers convulse into fist, wrapping themselves around firm length of wood. The Elder Wand, just a second too slow.

The female vampire snarls and closes her entire mouth over his neck – and rips it open.

* * *

 

Harry's died a countless times. He's been bitten by a vampire a countless times. Nothing is as cheap to him as his own death. And nothing is as repugnant.

"Here again, my _Master_ ," a terrible voice says. It rattles Harry down to his bones, it makes his marrow boil, and he almost doesn't want to look up – but he does. There's nothing around him – not blackness, not whiteness, just nothing. And in front of him is the end of everything.

Death looks down at him and grins as Harry's blood drips down his shirt – no, his robes, his cloak, his naked chest. Everything he's ever worn and nothing – none of its real, except for the fact that it all happened, once upon a time.

Harry sways where he stands on nothing, and remembers everything. Very bite, every cut, every bullet – every incision that cut him from neck to groin before hands dug into his chest and pulled his heart out. The cuts on his wrists – thousands of them – bleed out his lifeblood into history and around his neck are hundreds of ropes that refused to permanently end his life.

And all the reasons he tried – everything he lost to time.

The last human wizard who'd been born had been named Harry too. Her mother had hoped the name would give the child strength and chance of survival. It hadn't. She'd been born premature – and died inside a month.

Harry swallows and his blood gushes down in waves as Death keeps grinning down at him, looming over him with unfathomably dark robes spreading out all around Him. They look like they could swallow Him up – swallow the entire universe up. And they would too, in time.

"Won't you take me this time?" Harry asks, and his voice is a miserable thing. "Please, won't you just let me go?"

"Let you go, let my _Master_ go?" Death asks and leans down. Harry trembles as His naked teeth come to rest against his forehead, a terrible mockery of a kiss. "Have you had a change of heart, dearest?"

Harry thinks he cries – but he can't make a sound. There are bony fingers at his neck, touching the place where he'd been torn open – but his throat is whole again, all the wounds and cuts gone, the ropes he hung himself on disappeared. He stands there, naked and bloodless, while Death runs His cold, fleshless fingers down his chest.

"All you need to do is to give in," Death says and presses the sharp edged hand against Harry's chest, over his heart, "... give in and bend to my will and do as I ask, and I'll take you. I promise I will take you."

Except He wouldn't. Harry's seen what happened to the people who gave into Death after being tricked by the Deathly Hallows. And they've been... tangled in this terrible game for long enough to Harry know better – it would be too easy an ending after so many millennia.

Death is the only true thing left – and yet He's the worst liar in the universe.

"You even have that vampire hunter of yours back," Death says almost kindly. "You can start with him. He is so old, almost as old as you are – he will be _sweet_. All you have to do...."

...is take the man's soul.

Harry inhales and then wrenches himself back, away from Death's terrible kiss, from His touch. "No," he says shakily. "No, never, I am not becoming that – I am never going to do that."

Death stands there for a moment, bony hand still held up as if to touch Harry. Then He lowers it and the white flash of bone disappears into the bottomless darkness of His robes.

"I thought so," Death says, and He sounds amused, almost fond. "Go on then. Back you go."

Harry gasps and then starts falling through the nothingness – falling back towards the miserable whirlpool of life somewhere far beneath them.

"Until next time, my _Master_ ," Death says and laughs.

* * *

 

Harry wakes up with a gasp on the floor, feeling completely frozen down to his bones. Even before he can get his thoughts into any sort of order, he knows – he can feel it. The wound on his neck is already healing, closing up at unnatural speed.

For a moment he just lays there, gracelessly on his side, shaking in every limb. The change burns through him, crawling down his veins like lava and turning them cold with its passing – his bones feel like frozen iron while his flesh grows cold around them while the torn skin of his throat slowly knits itself shut.

"There we go," a female voice murmurs with pleasure and Harry looks up. The vampire is still there, sitting on his bar counter with one leg crossed over another. "Took your sweet time, didn't you, wretch? Get up."

Harry gets up, trembling every inch of the way. There's blood on his shirt – she hadn't been exactly graceful when she'd bit him, and it looks like most of it had ended up spilled everywhere; on him, on the floor, on her. Her chin is red with it, and it's tricked down her pale neck, pooled at her bosom. It's not a good look on her.

No wonder he's still shaking – he probably doesn't have any blood left in him.

"Very good," the vampire says with a satisfied, pleased hum. She slides down from the counter and next to him, taking him by the chin. "You still look like damn ghoul, but... you'll do. Now, when that vampire hunter comes here, you and I will kill him, won't we, my little puppet?"

Harry stares at her in incomprehension. She's talking about D, isn't she? That's why she'd attacked him, hadn't it? He tries to keep up but his head is still echoing with Death's voice. Worse yet, he can feel the change crawling over his brain, digging its icy fingers into his cranium – the very structure of his brain is changing.

Shit.

She turned him into a vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. I have no idea where this story is going.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of torture and human experimentation and all sorts of bad stuff.

Tessa Sinome was a thin, troubled girl when Harry had hired her. He'd had his bar open for about two years at that point and the people of the town of Grezha had finally started getting used to having him around. The first couple of years were always the tightest when ever Harry moved to a new town or village – that was usually how long it took for people to adjust to the memory problems.

Tessa wasn't technically like that – because technically that was the first time they met. Technically. In reality, he'd known her about a year – ever since she started hanging about in the alley right next to Harry's bar, trying to invite his customers into being hers – and usually succeeding too. She was, after all, very pretty even then, when she was under weight and constantly tired and bruised.

Harry would see her leaning onto the wood and plastic wall, cock her hips just so and beckon someone else over and he'd sigh – and then he'd forget. It wasn't his business and he didn't see it happen often enough for it to stick into his mind, so – it never did. Every time he saw her, it was like it was the first time.

"Heya there, barkeep," she'd beckon to him when ever she saw him haul some trash to the recycler in the back. "You wanna come have some fun with me tonight, yeah?"

He'd look at her, not knowing who she was even though it was easily the twentieth time she'd tried it, and he'd smile dismissively. "Sorry, love. I got work to do."

"Yea, yea, so do I," she answers and wave and turn away. "Work hard now, _love_."

And then she'd go, and then he'd forget her again and that was how it went for that first year – up until the point where he went back to toss out some dried flowers he had decorating the bar tables and found her sitting on the backdoor of his bar, leaning to the recycler and not doing anything.

"Heya there, barkeep," she said.

"Hi," Harry answered, and this time didn't dismiss her as not-his-business. She wasn't standing in the curb now, wasn't becoming to him – she was just sitting there, looking tired and bored and listless. "Are you alright? Do you need something?"

"Oh let's see. A better apartment," she said and lifted a finger. "Some new clothes" another finger. "I wouldn't mind better teeth," she flashed hers – her gums were dark, inflamed – infected "Better hair would be nice. Better life in general..." she trailed off with a sigh and looked up to him and she smiled. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're very pretty," Harry admitted.

"You never do anything though. You don't even look at me the right way," she said and pouted.

"Well," he hemmed and hawed because then he couldn't remember ever talking to her before. "I guess I don't," Harry admitted – he usually never did – and then offered her a smile. "But that's on me. You got no worries about looks department, though; you're easily prettiest girl I can remember."

And she laughed and laughed and laughed – until she started to cry. "You don't even – remember yesterday!" she wailed at him in awful mix of hiccups and giggles. "You don't know anything, you don't know anything at all!"

Harry's never known how to deal with crying people, he didn't know what to do that moment either. He flailed, went to touch her to comfort her before noticing that her dress was a little ripped and slipping down her tanned shoulder and then drawing his hand back, awkward.

Somehow, he landed on the dried flowers he was still holding – withered and faded, but there was still one big flower he didn't know the name off which was in full bloom.

He snapped it loose from the rest of the flowers, and crouched by her to hand it over. "Hey," he said while she stared at the flower. "You want to come inside and have a cup of coffee?"

She sniffled and gave him a suspicious look. "Barkeep, are you coming onto me?" she asked jokingly. "You know, I usually charge for that."

"Well, I usually charge for coffee," Harry shrugged and then, when she hesitated, he tucked the flower into her hair behind her ear. It looked nice against her dark brown hair. "Come on, I might even have some pastries left. Maybe."

"How do you run a bar with memory like that?" she asked with a laugh and wiped at her eyes with the back of her knuckles.

"I have no idea," Harry admitted and led her inside through the back.

It wasn't the last time he invited her into the bar – after that she dared to hover closer to the back door, and when he saw her there, looking hopeful, he'd invite her in. He liked her laugh, liked her hesitant confidence – which grew very quickly into full confidence, though he forgot every step of that process.

He forgot that first meeting – and all the ones that came afterwards. She seemed to like it, though – liked reminding him of things. It probably gave her confidence, to be competent in face of his dementia, maybe it made her feel powerful. Or maybe she just liked to be needed.

When Tessa Sinome appeared one morning, flowers in her hair, telling him cheerfully that he'd hired her to help around the bar – because his memory was atrocious – he accepted it easily enough. She was right from the start a good worker too, never complained about the time and learned the register quickly – made friends with the customers in way Harry never could. She made his bar feel warm.

She was his friend, the only friend he really had in Grezha – she cheerfully befriended him at the start of every week, never making him feel bad about his failing brain. She made him feel comfortable and welcome.

And at the end of every week, he forgot.

* * *

 

Harry trails his shaking fingers down his neck, where the vampire woman bit him. The torn flesh is already knitted whole, only the two puncture marks of a Nobility's Kiss remain. There's a slightest bump in the skin around them, and then the dip into his skin, into his flesh – all the way to his artery.

Such little things, vampire bites, and yet so much trouble.

"When the vampire hunter comes, you will grab him, pin him any way you can," the female vampire says, examining her cracked nail polish as she does. "And I will rip his throat out, the miserable wretch."

Harry doesn't answer, pressing a finger instead against the bite marks. He can still feel his heart, beating under the skin – but it's slower, stuttering. Still struggling with the change.

Vampires are down to their very cellular structure different from humans. It's magic and biology and who knows what else mixed into a mess that Wizards had once called a _curse_ , an infliction. Dark creature, they'd called them, not even befitting them the title of _being_. They'd never really looked into the actual differences.

Not like vampires had – with microscopes and test tubes, alchemy, science, chemistry... The Vampire King himself had been obsessed in learning the intricacies of his own existence – that was what had promoted the advancement of the technology of the Nobility so far ahead anything humans had achieved alone. Hundreds, thousands of years of experiments by people who could run those experiments for that long.

Harry had been, sometimes willing but often unwilling, participant in those experiments. After all, who was better test subject than the one... who eventually recovered?

So he knows, with visceral detail, how it goes – the conversion from human to a vampire. Vampires aren't really dead, not like Wizards had once thought – their hearts beat, but only during night time. At day time, they were as good as dead, stiff and lifeless and asleep until night came and woke them up. It's early night now – less than hour since sun set.

Harry's head throbs and with a wince he bows it. There's a chill crawling down his spine, inside it, like frost crawling over the surface of a pond. His nervous system, being slowly consumed and converted by the infection.

The vampire woman looks at him and then lets out an impatient look. "How long are you going to be flailing about? Stand up straight! As your Mistress, I'm not going to tolerate any useless whimpering. You're a Noble now, for God's sake!"

Harry almost laughs, but can't really manage. It's starting now, he can feel it. The conversion of his brain is complete, the frozen tingle has run its course down to his toes and fingertips – every nervous cell in his body has been changed. He's been turned into a vampire good dozen times in his long life – he knows how it goes, and it's never pleasant.

Soon, the memories will come.

Shakily Harry goes down to his knees on the floor, breathing in and out slowly while supporting himself against the bar counter and waiting. The vampire woman says something, hisses at him – grabs him by the hair to try and force him up.

And then it hits him.

* * *

 

Ginny Weasley was less than forty when she disappeared, never to be seen again. Harry spent five years doing nothing but looking for her, scouring every corner of the planet for any hint and then spent the rest of the century thinking every knock on the door would be her, coming home finally – but she never did.

Molly Weasley died at ninety eight. Her death was quiet and peaceful – in her bed, surrounded by her family. It was the one peaceful death any of Harry's loved ones got.

Arthur Weasley was stabbed in a back alley when he was hundred and fourteen by someone who was never caught, for reasons no one figured out. He was an old man at that point, long since out of politics, with no influence and no power left – but still someone held a grudge.

Neville Longbottom was fifty nine when he died. Or at least they assumed he did. He was in London at the time – back when there was still some sliver of London left to be in.

Luna Lovegood died at sixty one – no one ever figured out how, there was no visible cause, she just died.

Ron Weasley had died at age of seventy four – they never recovered his body. They were well into the swing of the end of the world as they knew at that point, and London had long since been bombed out of existence – and the air raids were still on going.

Hermione lived to be nearly hundred – she was the last officially sworn in Minister for Magic and she died in her bed – with two fang marks in her neck, and stave shoved through her half converted body.

By that point, her and Ron's kid's were already dead, one after the other. Rose had been turned into a vampire and had to be killed keep her from killing a group of school children and Hugo had turned up impaled on a stake along with about twenty other young wizards who'd been pitched up like a memorial in Azkaban. The Vampire King had, of course, denied any involvement.

Harry lived through all of that – through being shot and stabbed, through being bombed though it took about year to get up to his feet again. He lived through the war against muggles, the besiege of the magical creatures – he lived until there was only handful of wizards left and the Vampire King demanded their official surrender.

And then he lived through the death of the last of his kind, until he was all that was left.

* * *

 

Somewhere, Harry hears himself screaming.

* * *

 

He'd lived in Hogwarts alone for long, long time – for centuries and centuries, so long that he eventually forgot to dream about the outside and then until he forgot to fear it. The vampires didn't forget him, though. By that time, the Nobility had conquered the earth and claimed it for themselves, and turned its people as their vassals. Magical beings were their servants. Humans...

Humanity had been reduced back to middle ages, into serfs and slaves and cattle. Already the vampires were tampering with species, introducing traits their liked, removing the ones they didn't. Already then, the Vampire King was trying to weed out any potential of uprising from the very DNA of human race. Of course, it didn't work forever... but it worked for several millennia.

There were very few places left where Vampires hadn't rooted themselves in. They were already building their own cities and empires, changing the land to suit their needs – though the Capital hadn't yet even been conceived off, there were all united under the will of their Sacred Ancestor, and his court. And one of the few places they hadn't claimed for their own... was the ancient magical castle of Hogwarts.

Harry had spent hundreds of years building up the castle's magical defences. It existed then in eternal sunshine – the simplest, strongest defence against the Nobility. The grounds were stripped of trees, of any form shade, and the castle was raised to a magical hill that would take anyone days to climb on foot, and which could not be traversed by any vehicle. At the bottom of the hill was the Black Lake, stretched into a moat around the hill, and turned acidic. This on top of unblottability and the thickly layered wards, and all the magic Harry had fed to the castle's ghosts, to turn them all into powerful wraiths and poltergeists. Inside the castle every statue could move and every armour could stand to the defence of their castle. Even the portraits could kill.

But none of it meant anything, if you left the shelter willingly – which Harry eventually had.

It took less than two years for the Vampire King to capture him.

He spend good thousand years in the service of the Nobility, none of it's willing, none of it pleasant. At first the Vampire King was cordial, even sympathetic, over all that had happened to Harry's people. "Such a powerful people, such a shame," he said, and treated Harry as his most honoured guest in his great palace.

Then when Harry tried to leave, the Nobility's Sacred Ancestor locked him up. By that point, he'd figured out the weaknesses Harry had – his memory, his humanity, and the fact that unlike vampires, Harry didn't grow more powerful with age. He wasn't really even a true immortal. He just didn't stay dead – which the Vampire King eventually explored in full, terrible length, spending nearly five hundred years systematically killing Harry in increasingly complicated ways, in the search for the answer of his inability to stay dead.

Harry never let the truth slip. Morbid as it was, it was the only thing he had left – Death, and their terrible little chats in the Afterlife. It was the only power the Vampire King didn't have over him or anyone. Even he couldn't bring the dead back, and didn't know the secret to it.

Harry couldn't even imagine the horrors he could bring to the word if he had. So, he bit his tongue hundred thousand times and stayed quiet.

And so he died a hundred thousand deaths.

* * *

 

"What is wrong with you?!" the vampire woman snarls at him and then hits Harry hard across the face, sending him flying at the end of the counter where he's thrown against the wood and almost through it.

Harry's field of view is completely red. Tears, he thinks and then the vampire is over him, her eyes glowing furious red down at him. She has blood on her hand, all over her chin, and it looks grotesque.

Harry looks at her, really looks at her. She's ridiculously young. Maybe nineteen years old when she'd been bitten, and probably not half that much since. He can't even remember when he'd last seen a vampire so weak – and this woman had _killed_ him.

"You're part of the Nobility now, you miserable wretch!" she snarls at him. "Act like it and cease your wailing!"

Harry stares at her and then he starts laughing, a helpless, breathless hacking laugh that catches at his throat and bubbles with blood. "Y-you think you're part of the Nobility? You, you're a little girl! You're just a bloody little girl – and you think you're part of the Nobility?"

"What?" she asks furiously. "How dare you -!"

She hits him again and Harry keeps on laughing and laughing and...

* * *

 

He didn't escape the Vampire King's hold, not really. The Vampire King grew bored with him, called him an unexplainable freak of nature and then left him to rot in the bottom of his cells.

Harry died to starvation fourteen times and bled to death twice, before he finally managed to scratch his way through the cell walls and then dig his way through the several hundred feet of dirt between him and the surface above. He knows the Vampire King let him do it, though – he could have stopped it, but he hadn't.

Harry walked away on broken feet, with bleeding fingers and to this day it feels like a hollow, pointless victory. Even when he remembers, he doesn't remember everything that was done to him in the Vampire King's laboratories – and the thing is, it doesn't even matter. He healed. It took decades and centuries, but all his hurts healed – everything the Vampire King put in grew out of him, everything he took out grew back.

And nothing really mattered anymore. Magic as Harry knew it was gone – Vampires had bent it to their will in different ways and though Harry could still do magic as he always had, what was the point? There were no wizards left, and humanity had almost destroyed itself – if anything, Vampires had saved them from extinction by starting their terrible breeding programs.

Vampire King didn't care about him and to the rest of vampires Harry was just another human now – if he got attacked, it was because he happened to have blood flowing in his veins, not because he was Harry Potter, once Boy Who Lived, then the Elder of Magic, then the Last Lord of Magic – and finally, the Last Wizard. Just human prey now, same as everyone else.

Of course, Harry did try in the beginning. Every time humanity tried to rise up against their vampire over lords, Harry took up their weapons and joined in their armies... and usually died for their cause too. After few millennia of deaths and failures, though...

Eventually, his memory degraded to the point where it wasn't just that he didn't care – eventually he simply couldn't anymore.

Except, of course, those terrible times when some fool vampire decided to bite him – and make him part of their illustrious Nobility. And then, for a while, it all comes back to him.

* * *

 

"You useless, miserable little -!"

Harry catches the vampire's wrist in his hand as she goes to hit him again – and then breaks it.

Silence falls sharply and the crack almost echoes into it as the vampire woman stares at her hand, now bent at a terrible angle in Harry's grip. Harry licks at his lips – he'd cut himself on his fangs, it feels like. Vampires don't bleed all that much – it wasn't even a full drop of blood on his tongue – but it's enough to taste.

Enough to make him _thirsty_.

"Fucking vampire physiology," Harry murmurs with a sigh and as his _Mistress_ starts struggling in his grip. He looks at her curiously, wondering about her.

"Let me go, you cretin!" she screeches at him. "I am your Mistress, I command you to release me this instant!"

She certainly puts on the airs of a Noble, but she doesn't have a bit of power to back it up. Whoever made her either had no idea what they were doing, or they'd done intentionally a shoddy job – left her with enough free will to claim superiority, without actually having any.

"What are you doing?! I order you to let me go!" the vampire wails at him and then goes to hit him with her free hand – he captures and snaps that as well. She doesn't even try to heal.

He's not entirely sure what to do with her now that he has her. She struggles weakly in his grip – strongly for a human, but she's not one, which makes the weakness a strange. Even fresh made vampire should be stronger.

Shaking his head, Harry pushes to stand up, drawing the struggling woman with him – and the doorbell chimes.

D.

"That's him, that's the vampire hunter – I order you to kill him!" the vampire woman screams. "Kill him, do it!"

Harry blinks at D. D's face is utterly void of expression as he looks Harry over – his chest, neck, mouth. Harry knows what he sees, too; blood, bite mark, fangs. It's a pretty clear narrative, Harry imagines.

D, though... he hasn't changed a bit. Same gorgeous face, same long hair, same frozen expression. He even wears the exact same clothes, the same hat, the same cloak, the same skin-tight leather get up under it. There isn't as much as a new stain on him. Everything is just as it was, down to the last eyelash.

"Hey, D," Harry says. "Long time no see."

D looks at him and Harry wonders if his eyes have turned red – sometimes they do, sometimes they don't, and he's not sure why. Might have something to do with the strength of the vampire who turns him.

"Harry," the dhampir says, his voice like permafrost, deep and terribly cold. "You've been bitten. Again."

"Yeah, again," Harry agrees, completely ignoring the vampire struggling in grip. He smiles a little – it's almost funny, how familiar this all is. "Are you going to kill me again?"

D's face hardens a little and he doesn't answer, just grips the handle of his sword tighter. The blade is held level between them, gleaming sharp and cold in the dim light. Harry remembers it well, that blade, can remember every cold inch of it

It's aimed straight at his heart, too.

How nostalgic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a terrible unreliable narrator. I haven't tagged it yet because I think that sorta defeats the purpose of having an unreliable narrator in the first place, but you know, in case you missed it - Harry is a Unreliable Narrator.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on train on phone, edited on tablet, posted from phone, with increasing level of frustration over technology.
> 
> Quality Not Assured

Byernmoat was much like any other town that Harry had lived in. Smaller than Grezha and similarly poor, it had had population of about two thousand, mostly living from the trade of cattle, cyborg horses and the occasional motorised gas burning vehicle. Nothing really special as far Frontier towns went.

Harry had ended there more by accident than intention, but that's how he usually ended up in most of the towns he ended up moving into. He wandered in and decided it was the place he was probably going to in the first place, and then he looked for a job, a spot to fill, a place where he could unobtrusively spend the next ten years before moving on.

It so happened that Byernmoat had recently lost a number of people to werewolf attack, and so there were a shortage of workers. Harry begun working in a farm tending to various genetically modified mutant cattle, mostly cows. Milk tended to be the cheapest, easiest form of protein and calcium in the frontier – so most farms had more cows than anything else. And they always needed workers.

He got fired after it turned out he tended to milk the same cow four times a day, forgetting he'd already done it before, and then giving the poor beast all sorts of discomfort, trying to get at what had already been gotten.

Harry's next job had been waiting tables in the local bar, which very soon got degraded to simply washing dishes. It paid his rent and food for couple of months until his forgetfulness got the better of him and his boss decided to replace him with someone more reliable. The owner of the bar hadn't been shy about sharing his displeasure with Harry's many short comings, either, kicking him out with insults and jeers.

In hindsight, that's probably why Harry had decided to set up the Cauldron later on.

Harry ended up working at the local school first as a janitor and then, when the teacher for the two lowest grades turned up dead one morning, the school's Principal decided that she'd rather keep the money she'd otherwise have to spent by hiring someone else, and so she made use of what she already had instead.

"I mean, you're not completely useless, and I know you can read and write and add up small numbers at least," she said. "And that's all that's needed here, really." One couldn’t really accuse her of caring too much.

So Harry became a teacher – with a whole swathe of notes to work through, and a hawkeyed principal making sure he didn't mess up too bad. The other teachers, thankfully, were more sympathetic than condescending about his situation and pitched in too. With their help he made a bullet point list of things to cover and crossed them out when he had, which helped him keep things on track. Still, teaching was definitely not something he was terribly good at, in is condition.

The students never stopped taking advantage of it – telling him in earnest that he'd promised them sweets if they got something done, or just because, or telling him he'd cancelled their lessons, or that they'd already covered something even though they hadn't. In the end Harry was forced to start keeping track of the liars and pin a note of "Don't believe any of them, ever," on everything he knew he would see, and which they couldn't sneakily remove.

Overall though, he did enjoy teaching. He was terrible at it and probably messed up the education of each and every one of the poor kids he taught in his four year tenure as teacher, but it was interesting. It was stimulating and challenging and kept him on his toes in a way he didn't dare to test anymore.

And then the kids started going missing. First one, a sullen boy who’d never made friends and who Harry now thinks might've been bullied under his forgetful eye. Everyone thought the boy had ran away at the time. Or they did until another child followed suit, three days later – and a third three days after that.

There'd been time when Harry had cared about things like that. When he'd been first to jump into help, the first stick out his neck for someone he didn't even know. Doing the Right Thing had once meant something.

But time wore everything down. Everyone he ever saved ended up dead sooner or later anyway, by disease or accident or age or murder, it always happened. And in hundred years, two hundred... no one would remember them. Definitely not him

So Harry didn't interfere with things like that. Usually. It was easier to not care that much – even if he forgot the losses and deaths, he would still experience them, and they still wore him down. Loss lingers for so much longer than success does, that's just human nature.

Usually the people in danger weren't his kids, though, his students. And he might've not known any of them, might forget their names every day and their achievements every week, but they were still his kids, his responsibility. And even he wasn't made of stone, at least not yet.

It was in the utterly ridiculous attempt to find out what happened to the kids that he eventually met D – though at first it was really only in passing. Harry didn't know the Mayor had already discovered one of the children – body drained of all blood. He didn't know that a vampire hunter had already been hired.

He and D passed each other by while Harry was tracking the traces of one of his student with a point me charm, and D was on his way to talk to him about the missing children. The only common feature the kids all had was that was that they were in his class, after all.

It seems like it's something of a fate for D to always be suspicious of Harry when ever they meet.

* * *

 

Harry looks at D, waiting for him to do something while D waits him to do the same. In the end, neither moves.

"Well," Harry says and looks down at the sword aimed at him. Then the vampire woman in his grip lets out a screech of rage, tries to wring herself loose and when she can't, she goes and knees him the crotch.

Harry stays on his feet, but only barely.

"Let go of me, let go of me, let go of me!" she screams at him and tries to kick him again. "I will kill him, I will rip his throat out!"

"Lady," Harry says – wheezes really. "Calm the hell down. You're not killing anybody."

D looks between them coolly. "She can't command you," he says.

"Yeah, well, very few vampires can," Harry says distractedly and then frowns at the vampire woman. "And she's not very strong."

"How dare you – how dare – release me you wretched miserable little peasant – !" the vampire shrieks at him and almost head punches him in her increasingly hectic attempts to get away from him. "Release me, I command you to release me this instant!"

"Should I?" Harry asks, aiming the question at D.

D stares at him silently for a long time while the vampire woman struggles and, as always, the dhampir's face is like carven stone, utterly unreadable. When his eyes finally slide away from Harry and to the vampire, it does nothing to change his overall expression.

"Her companions are dead," D says. "She's the last one left. And she bit you."

"You – you killed him?" the woman asks, her struggles ceasing for a moment. "You killed Gevart?"

D doesn't answer, just stares at her impassively.

"You killed my husband and you killed my sire," she whispers and then lets out a roar of fury and writhes against Harry's hold like wild beast, her forehead hitting his chin and her legs licking his wildly as she does everything she can to get away.

"Wait," Harry says frowning, leaning back from her flailing. "The other vampire – wasn't your husband?"

"The mothman," D comments.

"You son of a bitch!" the vampire woman shrieks. Something in Harry's grip breaks and suddenly his hand is wet with blood – her broken wrist bones broke through her skin.

Harry looks down at the blood seeping through his fingers – and then up at D. As the dhampir's cold gaze slides over to him, Harry tilts his head in query. D doesn't as much as blink, so, with a shrug, Harry releases the woman.

Like possessed she rushes straight at D, her hands useless even as she still lifts them as if to claw at him. D narrows his eyes at Harry for a split of a second and then his attention is on the woman.

A quick flash of cold metal through the dusty air of Harry's bar – and she's dead.

Harry can't say he's sorry – except maybe for the fact that it leaves him and D with no distractions between them. The smoothly curving blade aims at him once more, perfectly level and precisely aimed right at Harry's heart. And Harry knows from experience – D is faster than he is. If he want to put that blade through his heart again, there'd be nothing Harry could do to stop it.

"I killed you once," D says, completely ignoring the dead woman at his feet. "How are you here?"

Harry considers him and then sighs, running a hand over his neck, over the bite marks. "People more insistent than you spent hundreds of years asking me that question, and I didn't tell them. Why would I tell you?" he asks. "Death is the worst thing you can do to me – and it's the least thing I can suffer."

D's eyes narrow into dangerous slivers for a moment and Harry expects the blow. D wouldn't be the first to torture him for information if he tried, and Harry very much doubts he'd have any better luck at succeeding at it, either.

D's sword lowers a little, to aim at Harry's stomach instead. Harry lifts his arms, opening them, welcoming the blow with a wry little smile. As a vampire it wouldn't kill him, he knows, and it would hurt – but pain he can handle.

The blow never comes. Instead D straightens up, the battle readiness easing off from his frame as he swings the sword to the side, shaking the blood off it. Moment later, he has the sword sheathed.

Harry tilts his head curiously.

"You're not blood crazed this time," D says – half a statement and half a question.

Harry considers that, running a finger over the Nobility's Kiss. "Well, no," he admits and looks down at the woman on the floor. "But she only killed and turned me."

"Only," D repeats slowly.

"Only," Harry nods and lowers his hand and looks at his bar around them. There isn't much in the way of damage, she didn't do much anything really, it's only the counter that's been banged up a little, but...

But he'd been turned into a vampire. Even if he survives this, it's not as if he can be a bartender now.

"Bollocks," Harry sighs. "I could really use a drink right now and I can't even metabolise alcohol anymore. You want something?" he asks and turns to the shelves of bottles on display behind the bar. "I could enjoy the experience vicariously through you."

D doesn't answer, of course not, and with a sigh Harry leaves the bottles where they are – and instead goes to pick up the Elder Wand where he dropped it when he died.

The hateful piece of wood hums in his fingers, itching him to use it.

"Tell me," D speaks after a moment of silence.

Harry examines the wand. He's broken the damn thing almost as many times as he's been broken himself, he's snapped it and burned it and thrown it into vats of acid. and every time it comes back to him when he concentrates just a little – same as every other Hallow.

"I die and then I come back," Harry says. "That's all."

"As human," D prods quietly.

Harry glances at him and then pushes the Elder Wand under his belt, where it hangs by the knob of wood at the base of the handle. "As human," he agrees. "As a stupid, amnesiac, demented human."

D doesn't say anything for a while and Harry turns to face him. "Well?" he asks. "Gonna kill me to find out? Trust me, you won't be the first."

D takes a step closer, over the dead woman on the floor. He doesn't say anything at all and Harry just waits. He's lived ten thousand years and more – he can wait.

Finally, D lifts a hand, his left hand. Harry arches an eyebrow – he's not even holding a weapon. What is he doing, trying to stall Harry like a spooked horse? It's not like he's going anywhere...

Then the skin of D's palm shifts and morphs – and then there's a face there, blinking up at Harry.

"Well," the face in D's hand says, "Isn't this something?"

Harrys eyebrows climb higher and D takes another step. This is... definitely something new, Harry thinks with bit of a surprise and then stands his ground, more out of curiosity than any bravado, as D comes closer, closer, and finally presses the hand close to Harry's chest..

The face sniffs at Harry, inhaling at his shirt deeply enough that Harry can feel a slight current. "Vampire," it pronounces. "A brand new one and blood soaked at that. I can't smell a spell on him either."

Harry looks at D while the dhampir frowns down at him and pulls the hand away. "What's that?" he asks and smothers the urge to rub at his chest

D doesn’t answer, just lowers his hand.

"If I kill you, you die and become human," D says. "Tell me why shouldn't."

"Why?" Harry asks, eying him curiously. "Why do you need a reason not to kill me, why not just do it? You're a vampire hunter, I'm a vampire, the whole thing is pretty clear cut, isn't it?"

D's eyelid twitches just slightly at that.

"Hm?" Harry asks, leaning in to look. That was almost a reaction this time. "You had no problem killing me last time."

"Last time you killed a room full of people."

Harry frowns a little at that. They killed him first – but he doubts that is much of an explanation. "That's it? Just because I haven't killed anyone this time? I killed people then."

"And I killed you for it," D answers and finally blinks. "And I will kill you now if I have to."

"You are such charmer," Harry sighs and shakes his head. "I don't have a reason for you to not kill me. There really isn't one. And I don't care either way."

D's expression remains impassive – but somehow, he seems surprised.

* * *

 

"You're Harry Potter – you teach the first and second class here?"

Harry looked up from the papers he'd been leafing through. There was a strange, tall man standing at the door of his classroom, dressed in all black.

"Yeah – that's, that's me," Harry said and yawned. "Sorry, I was up all night – can I help you, Mr...?"

"D," the stranger said and stepped into the classroom. "I'm a vampire hunter – I was hired to look into the missing children."

Harry blinked at that blearily and then shook his head. "Vampire hunter? But that's – did they figure something out? They know it was done by a vampire?"

The vampire hunter eyed him silently for a moment. "Can you tell me about the children?"

"Err," Harry answered and scratched at his neck. Whoever had pointed the guy his way was an idiot. "Not really, sorry to say – you can look at their records if you like but I can't really tell one from the other."

D stopped and just looked at him.

"Early onset dementia," Harry shrugged. "I can't remember much about last week, never mind who I met then. I do have a list of attendance, names and such, but that's about all I can give you."

"I'll take it," the man said and Harry dug the attendance list out of his drawer. It had markings on it – little xs and os – and then there was a little M in front of some names.

M for Missing.

D looked at the list and the at him. "Daire Alane was found," he said. "Dead."

Harry stared up at him – but in the end couldn't muster the energy to fake shock. "I see," he said instead and then ran a hand over his face.

What a miserable little town. Seemed like someone ended up dead every other day in the place. Men, women, kids – dead dead dead. It happened so often even he took note.

"Where did you go last night?"

Harry looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"You said you had a late night – it certainly wasn't here, as you weren't here when I visited. Where did you go?"

Harry stared at the impassive face under the wide brimmed hat. "I – there's a set of old ruins about mile south of the town. I went to look for the kids there."

"Why?"

"They're... my students – I have responsibility over them," Harry answered with a slight frown now. "I'm their teacher and I'm probably the worst teacher they're ever going to have – I but at least try."

"And why the ruins?"

Harry rubbed at his forehead and looked away. Why the ruins indeed. "Seemed like a likely place," he said. "I'm don't think I found anything though."

"You don't think?"

"I – don't remember," Harry sighed and shook his head. "I had a notebook with me and I didn't wrote anything down, though, so I don't think I saw or found anything."

D stared at him coolly for a moment before letting the sheet of paper flutter down on Harry's desk. By the time Harry looked up from it, he was already out of the door and gone.

* * *

 

"You remember now," D says slowly. "As a human you don't."

Harry shrugs. "I'm old. Human brain isn't equipped to handle the stuff in my head – it overloads all the connections, breaks them apart. The knowledge is still there, I just can't access it. Vampire brains are built sturdier, though – ten times as many neurons in general, and they're structured differently."

D blinks slowly.

"Yeah," Harry says, in answer to the obvious not being pointed out. "I can remember as vampire – but that's a benefit that's wildly outweighed by the downsides. You're a dhampir – you should know."

D's expression hardens a little at that.

Harry turns away. "It's temporary anyway. Seven years and I'm back to human again," he says and laughs wryly. Not that he'd make it that far – he'd be killed or he'd starve to death inside couple of months. Which is just as well – the last year of the healing process is a pain in the ass.

"How?"

Harry sighs and doesn't answer.

D tries a different tack. "How many times have you been through this?"

Only counting the times where it lasted long enough to be considered being and living as vampire – rather than the times when he'd been changed and killed, changed and killed... "About dozen now."

D falls quiet for a moment, and Harry can feel his stare on the side of his neck.

Harry glances at him, a lot he uneasy now. He knows how this goes – and it's not going that way. Why hasn't D killed him yet? It's going past the realm of curiosity at the face of something new and borders on the edge of something... worrisome.

D seemed like honourable sort of man in his own, glacier way. But he's also about as readable as a brick wall and it has been a long, long time since someone learned of Harry's infliction – and didn't want to cut him open to find how it worked.

Eventually, D turns away from him, to look at the dead woman on the floor of Harry's bar. Harry followed his gaze curiously. She's still lying there, slowly bleeding onto the floor boards. Poor woman – whatever her deal had been, she'd definitely bitten more than she could chew.

"The day I killed you. Did you drink the blood of the people you killed?"

Harry leans his elbows onto the counter and shrugs. "Probably," he admits, still looking the dead vampire, wondering how she ended up there, what kind of life she led to finish it so wretchedly.

D looks at him. "Would you again?"

"If I say no, would you take it for truth?" Harry asks back, almost amused. "A vampire, swearing not to drink human blood. That's a bit of a laugh, isn't it? As if my word means anything at this point."

"There have been Nobles who didn't."

"I'm not Noble," Harry scoffs. "I don't have access to thousands of years of technology and all the fortune that comes with it. I can't synthesise blood from nothing. I just starve."

D eyes him from the corner of his eye and then looks away again. "Yes," he agrees.

"What?" Harry asks with a confused frown.

"Your word," the dhampir clarifies. "It means something."

* * *

 

Harry went after the kids again the next night – what else could he do? So many were missing and though he couldn't even remember their faces, school held a fundamental importance to him that even thousands of years hadn't shaken off. And he didn't want to be that professor, not if he could do something about it.

The point me charm took him again towards the ruins and so that was where Harry headed, stumbling over the uneven, moss covered, the perfect example of a bumbling fool in way over his head.

"You shouldn't be here," a cool, deep voice said.

"I am exactly where I should be," Harry grumbled and the only reason he didn't try and blast the vampire hunter with a spell is the little sketch he'd scribbled of the guy's hat in his notebook – it had been surprisingly accurate.

"This is no place for a school teacher," D said grimly.

"It's no place for school children either," Harry says and glowers at him. He'd hit his toe on something and all the attempts of trying to investigate were making his head pound, but Harry had the bit between his teeth now – he isn't giving up until he gets the kids or dies in the attempt. "No fancy ponce from out of town is going to tell me what I can or cannot do. Those are my students out there, and I'm going to make sure they get back home, damn it."

D didn't react in the slightest and his tone was cutting when he spoke again, "And if they're dead?"

"Then I'll get them home in body bags!" Harry snapped and marched away, muttering curses. "Bloody fancy git trying to tell me not to do my damn job..."

For a while D just looked after him, his expression as glacially void as ever. Then, as silent as shadow, he followed Harry into the ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday, travelling and stuff - updates are gonna be weird and possibly bad


	6. Chapter 6

It's an interesting predicament to be in, really. Though Harry is still vary, and D is still cold and eying him with bit of a suspicion, it doesn't look like the Vampire hunter is actually planning to do away with the vampire right next to him. And Harry honestly doesn't know what to do with that.

There hasn't been many times he'd survived very long as a vampire – usually it was because he was turned by accident by people who had no intention of turning him, and so usually had left him to die and rot. The last time didn't really even count as being turned into a vampire – he died, changed and then died at D's hand, all within the same hour.

This, being changed with someone there, a vampire hunter nonetheless... this is new.

Finally D moves, lifts his long nailed hand. At first Harry thinks he goes for his sword again, but instead he takes something frim under the labels of his long dark cape – something small enough to fit into his hand.

A clear glass capsule, capped by a breakable glass cap. Inside, it's filled to the brim with something vividly red.

Harry leans his chin into his palm and watches how D sets the capsule between them on the counter, where it gleams clean and strangely threatening in the overhead light.

"Grade?" Harry asks quietly.

"Highest," D says and turns his eyes to him. "You know about blood grades."

Harry had been there when the Vampire King had invented them.

Not saying anything, Harry reaches to take the capsule, turning it in his hand. It's completely smooth, no maker's brand or even signs of manufacture anywhere – nothing that shows even to his eyes. There might be something inscribed to the molecules, though, something so small that only a machine could read it, but Harry has no way to tell.

The fact that there isn't anything visible to a vampire's eyes is telling. Highest grade synthetic blood – the sort that packed in everything a vampire needed from human blood in smallest possible quantity of liquid... expensive black market stuff.

"Yeah," Harry says and sets the capsule down again. "This is the sort of stuff I could never afford – even if I knew where to buy it, I never had the money even for the low grade stuff. Where do even you buy this?"

Someone who had some damn fancy machinery, the sort only old Nobility has, who knows how to use it – and who then would sell it to a dhampir vampire hunter... That's not just rare, that sounds more like impossible.

D watches him without saying anything.

Harry gives him an uneasy look and looks at the capsule. If he did have access to something like this and the money to get enough of it often enough...

He doesn't, though. What fortune he'd ever had had been in wizarding currency – and gold is next to worthless these days. Vampires had instituted coinage in their own metal alloys and the new human government had mimicked it as closely as they could, though they'd been unable to perfectly replicate it. Gold, though...

Gold is one of the old noble metals – not just in chemistry, but in magic too. It doesn't wear, it doesn't corrode – and it cannot not be charmed. Not even vampire magics or whatever powers they achieved later on could affect it.

At the end of their decline even Wizards wore golden and silver crosses around their necks. So, Vampires had made sure gold and silver – like crosses – became thing off the past and so made all Old World fortune worthless. And since then...

Harry frowns a little at the blood capsule. Synthetic blood of any quality would be thousands of dalas. He'd maybe able to buy a dose or two, if he sold his bar and everything he had made in his time in Grezha.

"Drink it," D tells him.

Bloody hell.

"Don't you need it yourself?" Harry asks, leaning back a little.

"I have more," D says. "You're freshly drained and turned. Drink it."

Harry's fingers curl into fists and he leans back a little more, away from the temptation.

He's been able to ignore the thirst for now mostly because these last few years have been hungry ones. His bar, now that he can recall it, has never been doing particularly well – his fridge upstairs has always been more empty than not. There's been a low key hunger there for a long while now.

Now that D has offered him this out, though...

His bar reeks of blood. Most of it's Harry's own, spilled all over himself and on the floor, already mostly dried but still recognizably blood. And then there is the cloying, bitter scent of the vampire woman's blood – her body is still there, lying in a small puddle of deep crimson on the floor. Maybe some of Harry's blood there too.

The thirst rises like a yawning void, swallowing Harry whole – his throat goes painfully dry and his whole mouth pulses with pain, with longing.

Harry clasps a hand over his mouth, trying to reign it in – but even after all these years and all these terrible stints into vampirehood... he isn't very good at it. Though his upper lip, he can feel his fangs lengthen.

D watches him struggle and then takes the capsule in hand. Harry swallows the snarl and watches him with a furious scowl, breathing as slow as he can against his hand even though part of him wants to lash out at the dhampir and snatch out the damn thing from his hand. But of course... of course it was just a test.

Of course D wouldn't just give it to him.

Merlin, he's so thirsty, so hungry, and it's right there and he could just take it – maybe, if he was quick about it, maybe he could take the thing, maybe -

D snaps the glass stopper off and Harry almost moans. The smell of synthetic blood isn't like the real thing – it's worse, so much more potent. Invented by vampires for vampires, it's designed to entice their every sense, to fulfil their every need, and by Merlin, it does too.

Slowly the dhampir sets the opened capsule in front of Harry, who has to stumble backwards to keep himself from taking it.

"Once opened it will spoil inside two minutes," D says warningly. "And I don't need it right now. Take it."

Harry breathes shakily. "What the bloody hell do you want from me?" he whines and shakes his head, trying to take his eyes off the capsule – but he can't. He's just flat out incapable.

D doesn't answer right away, looking at him, at the capsule, and then turning his eyes to the dead vampire. "Drink it," is all he says.

Harry can just barely keep himself from whimpering.

* * *

 

The first time Harry had been turned into a vampire, it had been an both intentional and a complete accident. The vampire in question had been a no-name nobody, not even a lower Noble, and Harry doubts he'd really known who he'd attacked, what he'd done. He'd just wanted the fame and fortune of killing some wizards.

It was early days of the wizards' decline, before the actual Withering Siege that starved the wizards out and after the War – when there were still talks of compromises and actual hope of negotiating some sort of peaceful solution to between new powers and old grudges. It was a tense time, full of intrigue and tense politics – and under handed tactics – but they still had enough hope for it to be dashed.

Back then wizards had numbered high enough that the magical beings and creatures hadn't yet felt confident to really attack them in broad day light – only in shadows, in secrets, with stabs to the back rather than knocks to the teeth. That was what had kept wizards so hopeful, mostly. Until then, they'd still felt safe and secure in some semblance of superiority.

"They can't destroy us all," was the belief. "We're wizards!"

For such old group of people, they were hopelessly naïve to the bitter end.

There'd been a very grandiose invitation to attend a ball of so and so, a new rising noble vampire, in Common Pursuit of Peaceful Future or what not. Wizards had taken it as a good sign, to have lesser vampires showing interest in fostering relations and rubbing elbows – maybe vampires were getting as worn down by the cold war they were waging as were wizards.

It was a blood bath – a literal blood bath. Wizard blood painted the floors and ceilings and the so called nobles of that particular castle revelled in it like beasts, rubbing themselves all over it until they were all soaked in red. Harry's blood went into those pools, along with the all the blood of ten or so wizards and witches he'd came in with.

It wasn't the first time Harry met Death – by that time he'd been stabbed and poisoned so many times it was a monthly occurrence – but it was the first time he came back different. Waking up in middle of all that blood, all that carnage – people he considered his own torn to pieces by the blood craven vampires feasted on their remains...

It wasn't a very graceful awakening Harry had. And neither was his reaction to it. He didn't even know he was a vampire, until he had another vampires throat in his mouth, until he felt their wind pipe crunching under his teeth.

Even now, he remembers the cloying, cold taste of it on his tongue every time he's bitten – that strange alien taste of blood and death mixed, like liquid burnt rust. His first taste of blood, and it came from what was technically his own kind.

He glutted himself on it without any sort of restraint, tearing the other vampire’s throat in his teeth and soaking in the spill before going after the next vampire – and after that the next. It wasn't revenge, it wasn't retribution, or even thirst.

It was just madness.

Later, once he added in on the red painting the floors and walls, when he was the last one left, he tried to throw it all back up. Vampire physiology is different though – vampire can't be poisoned and even if their food goes sour it can't make them ill. So, they do not have any physiological urge to vomit.

And so Harry carried the blood of vampires in his belly with him when he walked into the morning light the following day – it was still there, when he woke up some time later covered in burns and completely human again.

* * *

 

"D," Harry chokes out. "What the hell do you think is going to happen here?"

D doesn't answer, watching him silently, seemingly placid and uncaring – except for the fact that he put this damn temptation in front of Harry.

"I drink that and then what?" Harry demands desperately. "I don't have access to that stuff. If you don't kill me now someone else will later – or if they won't, then I will walk into the sun when the thirst gets too bad for me to control. All you're doing is adding little bit time between now and the inevitable."

"One minute," D says coolly. "It will spoil."

Fucking hell with this man.

Harry's eyes, still on the capsule because he really can't let it out of his sight now, narrow and it feels like his very bones tremble with the need to grab it and throw it back and -

"D," he breathes, trying to think of a way to convey what a waste this is. It's like giving starving man a glass of water in the middle of the desert – helpful in the immediate but overall...

Or is that it – D giving him his last meal? Bloody fucking – and really Harry shouldn't be thinking bloody things, but oh god the blood is right there and he's so, so thirsty now, his fangs are almost cutting into his lower lips, they're so long...

"Drink it."

Harry exhales, and takes the capsule. It feels lukewarm in his hand – D hadn't kept it in a refrigerated case, which means it can only be few weeks old at best, maybe only days. The man has that sort of access to synthetic blood – he can just get it within weeks when ever he wants?

Then the blood is on Harry's tongue, draining down his mouth sluggishly. It's barely a single decilitre – but synthetic blood isn't like the real thing. It's so, so much more. Thick and almost unbearably sweet, it soaks into Harry like water into parched ground and suddenly -

"Fuck," Harry whispers as the now empty capsule slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. A shudder runs through him and Harry can feel his body shifting. After months of too little food and too many sleepless nights, he's full – and what would for human take weeks, for a vampire only takes few moments.

Harry blinks rapidly against the sudden blur in front of him and without checking knows that the hollow cheeks are filled out again, and his eyes probably aren't as badly sunken in their sockets he definitely fills his clothes more fully now, his waist no longer skeletally thin.

D watches him silently, expressionlessly – he seems satisfied though.

Slowly, Harry takes his glasses off – now more a hindrance and necessity. "And now what?" Harry asks, his fangs still long enough to make it a hiss. "I can die with a full stomach? What the hell was the point of that?"

"Do you want to die?"

Harry stops at that and looks at him. The dhampir still haven't got a single damn expression on his face – but his eyes are intense. Without the fogging effect of bad vision and broken glasses in the way, D looks...

Harry looks away, shakily drawing a breath and then releasing it. "It will happen sooner or later," he says. "Why prolong the inevitable? It's not like I stay dead."

D watches him, and his gaze almost burns. "And forgetting who you are, that's not a death to you?"

It's definitely not what Harry had been expecting.

"I don't forget myself,” Harry says with a slight frown. the taste of blood is still on his mouth, thick and glorious and quickly he runs a tongue over his teeth, trying to get rid of it. "I remember the first years of my life – first hundred years or so."

"People change with time," D says. "Every time I've met you, you've been a different person. Every time you've forgotten. Is that acceptable for you?"

Harry bows his head and doesn't say anything.

* * *

 

The second time D and Harry had met for the first time, Harry had been something of a drunken lout.

It had been in the town of Eshersire a fairly newly established frontier town where they were trying to put together some form of industry. The mayor of the place had been young, rich, and full of grandiose ideas – the first of which had been to set up a protective barrier around the entire town, full with electromagnetic barriers and automated turrets.

It was as hopeful as any place in the Frontier could get and when Harry stumbled in with few coins in his pocket and empty belly, he figured it was the place he was been aiming to go. So, he'd settled in and set out looking for a job – and with so much construction happening, new buildings being pitched up, factories being planned, there was surely something for him to do.

There was – and then, when Harry let his memory problems slip too soon, there wasn't. He was right, later on, thinking he'd be atrocious at construction – he really was, almost causing a fire b forgetting the blow torch was on, and then almost letting a fellow worker fall to his death because he forgot the man was there.

Eshersire was very small then, less than five hundred people. Word about his uselessness got around, fast and things got miserable for Harry even faster.

"Eshersire will be a beacon of civilisation in these lawless lands!" the mayor of Eshersire told them in his nearly daily speeches. "What we do here and how we conduct ourselves now will set the tone of our future – we must be great, for Eshersire to follow!"

In Eshersire, there was no room for infirmity – and definitely not for senility. But at the same time they were far too civil to just kick a man out, especially a handicapped man like Harry – so, they tried to make him leave by his own volition instead.

Harry, though, he didn't learn his lessons – he just adjusted to new situations.

One day he had a cheap housing in the stack houses set up for the construction workers – next day he was homeless. He forgot why or how or even when he'd been kicked out and figured that he was just homeless now, and so he rolled with it. The only store in the town refused to take his money when he went to buy food, he ended up figuring that the price of things had changed and he just couldn't afford things – it explained the homeless thing too.

Only place that would take his money was the town's new bar, which was target of similar but even more brutal bullying by people. The Mayor had decided that in order for Eshersire to be great, the people would be pious and resist temptation of vices – and he paid everyone's commissions and salaries. If there was still any semblance of religion left, the guy would've been a born preacher of faith and humility under God.

So, the bar couldn't afford to distain a paying customer, and Harry couldn't afford to buy anything from anywhere else. Couple days into it, he figured he'd fallen into hard times and it just was the life he was living right then – and he'd probably tried to fix things and since he hadn't, it probably meant he couldn't.

One of the biggest problems with having such short memory span – when he spiralled down it only took a few days for him to hit rock bottom.

So, when the attacks started and the Mayor called in the Best Money Could Buy, Harry figured he'd been a homeless drunk maybe for years – rather than days. And, of course, he didn't remember a thing about D though it'd been less than five years since they last met.

"Mr. Potter?" D asked with what Harry now knows what actual surprise – then it sounded like cold disgust.

"Fuck off," Harry answered in a slur, drunk off his ass at the late hour of five am.

That got even more of a reaction, not that Harry could tell at the time. He'd gotten pretty close actually shocking the man, D actually stopped his horse to look down at him in something like astonishment.

"Whaddya want?" Harry demanded blearily.

"I... am a vampire hunter," D said slowly. "I was hired by the Mayor to deal with the recent vampire attacks in the area. Know anything about it?"

"What vampires?" Harry asked and listed against the crate, the shadow of which he was sitting in. His head knocked back a little and he finally took in the dark clad stranger in front of him and blinked up at him. "Bloody hell, you're really fucking pretty."

D just stared at him.

It was a delightful first – second – meeting, all in all.

* * *

 

"As a vampire you remember," D says. "Everything?"

Harry closes his eyes and sighs. "As a vampire," he says slowly. "I burn in sunlight, become as good as dead during day time, I have to drink blood, and I can't afford any of that."

"And if you could?"

Harry glances at him. "I don't," he says.

D gives him a frosty look and harry sighs impatiently.

"You're a dhampir – I bet you've had blood starvation?" Harry says. "You know what it feels like. Do you know what it's like to die of it? I've died by more ways than I can count, D, and that is up there as worst of them. I'd rather take your sword than that again. I'd rather walk into the sun."

"... I do know what it feels like," D agrees. "To starve to death."

Harry frowns a little. "You..." he trails off, staring at him.

D doesn't give anything away – but then, he doesn't really have to. His face gave it away for him. His beautiful, perfect pale face, so much like the Vampire King's.

Vampire King who'd always been a little obsessed with True Immortality – one without setbacks, without weakness. For centuries the Sacred Ancestor of the vampire Nobility had spent digging around Harry's insides looking for it. He'd failed there but Harry had never had any doubts on whether or not the man kept trying. And Harry had heard about them.

The Chosen Ones.

Harry frowns a little, watching D's cold, impassive face. "D," he says quietly in dawning horror. "How old are you?"

D's eyes darken and narrow, but it's more in thought than dismay, and with interest Harry watches his face. The longer he looks, the younger D seems – he doesn't really even look twenty yet. Like Harry, he seems stuck in eternal youth – literal youth. Neither of them made it to true adulthood.

What had Death said – almost as old as him? Good merlin. And D wasn't a full vampire – he was a half human – and he took after his human side more than most dhampirs did. He could walk in sunlight, he could stay awake during the day, he could eat food.

How much of his brain was human? How did his neurons handle the impossibly long years?

D closes his eyes and he looks... Harry doesn't even know. There is no word for it – it looks tiredness but not really. It's like thing that can't really exist, because D is made entirely too well to get tired. Weariness in perfection maybe, whatever that is. It's kind of terrible to look at.

"Oh," Harry says in a small voice and lowers his eyes.

D sighs. "If you could," he says. "Would you?"

Live ten thousand years – and remember all of it, every bit of it, all the time?

"I don't know," Harry admits quietly and looks at his hands. He still has the blunt, worn fingernails of a bar tender – but the skin of his palms is already smooth and soft.

There were lot of things he'd done with these hands he doesn't really want to remember. Lot of things that had slipped through these fingers he would never get back. Remembering now is bad enough. Remembering always...?

D opens his eyes and looks at him. Harry looks up, squeezing his hands into fists, blunt fingernails digging into his palms.

"I don't know," Harry says again. "I haven't ever thought about it, there's never been an opportunity for it, so... I haven't thought about it."

That's a lie, though. Every time he'd been a vampire, he'd thought about it, he'd thought of very little else, really. To remember, rather than to forget – there were times that it seemed worth it, vampirism seemed worth it just to be able to function... But he'd always decided against it for one simple reason.

If he forgot people... he wouldn't loose them when they died.

D looks at him, so much older and so much younger than his ears. "And if it was?"

Harry swallows, his mouth feeling parched all over again. "Well, that depends," he says slowly and watches D's exceedingly pretty face closely. "Are you offering?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a new keyboard and new system of writing on my phone and tablet. Also got a new writing schedule enforced by an actual literal rooster waking me up at 5 am. Yay for vacation.


	7. Chapter 7

For every bad year Harry has lived, there are ten boring ones. Even the nearly a millennia kept in the Vampire King's palace was contrasted against the centuries of wandering that followed, slow and dragging on. The only thing that ever made them bearable was the fact that he never remembered them.

He stays in one place about ten years, long enough to reach some semblance of stability and routine so that he can pretend to be functional – and then, once it starts getting too long for him to hide the fact that he's not aging, he moves on. Like that, he's wandered through hundreds of cities and met hundreds of thousands of people – and done the same things over and over and over.

Byernmoat wasn't the first time he ended up teaching – it's happened eight times in total. Cauldron is his fourteenth bar, and it's neither the most successful nor the least successful of the lot. He has done construction work, even been semi decent at it – he's also done demolition. He's waited tables and made beds, he's cleaned and laundered, he's dug graves, he's put people in them, he's even governed a small village once for a hot second people the people there realised what a bad idea that was. He's mined and been a miller, he's spent almost hundred years as a farmer in total.

It always happens through the same motions. He enters a town and figures he might as well stay. He looks for a job. Half of the time people are sympathetic give him something to do out of out of pity. Half of the time, they aren't so sympathetic. Mostly latter these days as Harry sticks to the Frontier more and more – they don't keep detailed records on people in most Frontier towns. They also rarely exercise pity.

Sometimes he manages to find a job, a calling even, the one thing he will do for the next however long he will happen to stay at the place. Like keeping a bar. His whole life then wraps around it, as he leeches every possible meaning out the idea of Working For a Living.

He doesn't need to, is the thing. He could spend the next thousand years lying in the ground not doing anything – he'd constantly die of hunger and thirst and exposure, but he'd live.

He's gone through the motions so many times that when he remembers, they all blur together. Hundreds of times he's entered a place and made himself home there in whatever way he could. Sometimes he makes friends, usually he doesn't though. Few times he's had lovers, but that's even rarer. Not many have patience to bother with someone like him. Usually, it's just him, doing his job... pretending he's doing something meaningful.

It's just killing time, really. Killing time in the most time-killing fashion he can think of, while also making sure he can feed himself.

It had always been pointless though. And remembering doesn't make it any less so.

* * *

 

"Wait," Harry says while D sets a small metal case front of him. Five blood capsules sit inside in red velvet, all in a neat row, gleaming in the overhead light. Harry's eyes are wide as he stares at them – but he's not surprised enough to not realise what they are, what D means by them. "I thought -"

"I travel in the day time," D says simply.

Harry looks up at him and then at the case. That's easily hundreds of thousands of dalas worth of synthetic blood, easily enough for him to manage two, maybe even three months without starving – five, if he did starve himself just a little. "But, that's..."

D watches him impassively.

"Bloody hell," Harry mutters and then runs hands over his face. "I don't understand you. You think I'm going to stay here, as a vampire? I'll be killed the moment people here figure out."

"Then don't stay," D says simply.

"And go where instead?" Harry asks with a sigh, and lowers his hands to look at him. "I thought ..." he trails off and looks at the dhampir in lost confusion.

He thought that the whole point of the thing was for him to go with D. If that wasn't it then what the hell did the dhampir want from him? Just the knowledge he was alive somewhere?

D watches him silently for a moment and then looks down at the blood. "I can tell you where to get this," he says, tapping a finger against the silver shaded case. "That way -"

"I can't afford it," Harry says with a sigh. "I don't know what being vampire hunter pays, but nothing I've ever done paid in those sums." And his other talents weren't exactly safe to use... "And I'd rather not resort to crime if that's all the same to you."

D doesn't say anything for a moment. "You can't come with me," he says and it sounds almost regretful. "Only way would be to travel by carriage or some other sun-tight vehicle, and for me it is cumbersome."

Harry pauses at that and looks at him. "So," he says slowly. "It's just the daytime travelling that's the issue?"

"You are vampire," D says. "Even with thickest cloaks, you'd burn."

Harry nods slowly. Vampire needs space of darkness around them – just being shielded from the sun isn't enough. However...

"And if I could travel in daylight?" Harry asks. "Without carriage?"

D looks at him, and though his expression doesn't shift, there is interest in his eyes. "Could you?" he asks, which Harry is a little impressed by. The man must've seen some interesting things in his life to not question it straight off the bat.

Harry folds his arms, looking at him. "I wouldn't even need a horse of my own," he admits. "If you'd be willing to share yours. I wouldn't take much space either, really."

D's eyes narrow now just a little. "You're a shape shifter?" he asks.

Harry's eyebrows shift up. That was fast. "Well," he says and smiles a little. "Something like that."

"Shape shifter vampire is still a vampire – you still need a space of darkness."

"Yes – just not as much of it," Harry says and tilts his head. "I think sticking to staying under your cloak might just be enough."

He's definitely got the man's interest now.

* * *

 

When Harry had realised his immortality, he'd made it something of a challenge himself to learn as much magic as he could. That was what immortal wizards did, after all – or old wizards who craved immortality anyway. They learned as much magic as they could.

He even had a list of it – of spells, skills, abilities and whatnot he wanted to master. In the early days Hermione had contributed to it by adding to his notes, making her own, throwing comments about how this and this skill would be so handy but oh it took so long to learn...

Harry ended up forgetting most of it – and stopped using almost all of it eventually. Magic made things easier and faster, sure. In his bar he could enchant every table to stay clean, sweep the floor with a spell, wash the dishes with a muttered word. And then the work that usually took him two hours would be over in two minutes – and then what would he do?

As it was, the Nobility had made sure to make it unsafe for him for a long, long time. Before they started tampering with genetics, changing the very nature of humanity and creating hordes of mutants, even a whisper of a witch or wizard would spark a very vampiric witch hunt. Nowadays so many creatures – so many seemingly human people – had borderline magical powers that Harry fit right in, but still...

There's a difference between channelling lightning through your body because you were genetically altered – and summoning it from tip of a wand.

And there are still places that would like nothing better than a good old fashioned witch burning.

So in the end Harry only used magic when it was absolutely necessary. Usually it never was, though. After all, what was the worse that could happen? He could die?

That doesn't mean he ever forgot.

* * *

 

D is silent as the grave as Harry packs – or rather, as magic packs for him. Harry directs it with his wand tip, guiding things through the air and into an old fashioned trunk, folding clothes mid air and tucking them in tight before setting his notebooks beside him. He has few personal items he now actually remembers the significance of, and he packs the most important ones of them too.

A punch of paper flowers Tessa had made him once. A drawing a kid had made in his bar while her parents had gotten drunk at the counter. A poem a hungry traveller had written for him, the only thing the man had been able to afford to pay him with for the dinner he'd given the guy.

There is also a metal plaque the Mayor of Grezha had given him when he'd opened his bar, a fancy wine holder he'd once gotten from passing rich man who'd been very keen on showing people how rich he was, some other more monetarily valuable things... but Harry doesn't really care about those.

There's a dried flower hanging from the kitchen window which Harry stares at for a while. It looks like Tessa had hung it up, though he can't remember when. Maybe the many times she'd gone around his back to do a little cleaning, because he never remembered to do it himself.

By unmagical means it would never survive travel intact, but...

D says nothing while Harry summons the flower to him, leaving it to hover in front of him as he considers it. It's some strange type of rose – a sort of a flower mutant, really. It has three centres, the petals wrapping around all of them first separately and then around all three together, forming a sort of softly curving triangle. It's pretty.

Harry turns the whole thing into metal – the flower into silver, the stem and dried leaves into gold.

D draws an audible breath at that, finally an actual reaction.

Harry takes the now metallic flower from the air and looks at him. "Tessa left it here," he says and places it gently on the top of the nearly folded clothes in his trunk. "It's a bit frivolous maybe, but..."

"That's old magic," D says quietly, lowering his chin a little with what looks like he's having his suspicions confirmed.

"Transfiguration," Harry agrees and lifts the Death Stick. "Magical wand."

D's eyes trail the knotted piece of wood and then looks at the flower. "I see," is all he says.

Harry looks at him, wondering how much did he realise, how much did he know. When had D been born anyway? Before or after the War, the Siege – Harry's nearly century of involuntary stay at the Vampire King's palace? Had they been in the same castle, thousands of years a go – Harry in the basement cells below, and D in the towers above?

He's sure D hadn't recognized him, so he doubts the Vampire King had ever made Harry's face known to his people, but he has a feeling D knows something.

Maybe one day he'd ask – maybe Harry would tell him. Who knows.

Harry closes the trunk lid and then stands up. D says nothing as Harry waves a wand over the trunk, shrinking it down to the size of a cigarette pack and then putting it into his pocket. Then Harry turns away, to look for a sheaf of papers in the living room.

"One last thing and then I'm done," Harry says, and then turns his wand on the papers. He's written his own will hundreds of times – every time he had property to leave behind – and the word come out easily. _The Last Will and Testament of Harry Potter._.. He inscribes the words onto the paper with a spell in official looking type, before adding in all the embellishments of an official document, including what he hopes passes for a legal seal.

It doesn't need to be legal to be useful to the people of Grezha, though, and a fake will is better than no will.

Harry looks over the document he made and then ages it up, adding a little wear and tear to it. Then he takes it to his little safe, hiding it there with little bit of money, to make it look like he hadn't just stripped his house from everything he owned.

"You intend to make it seem like you died?" D asks finally.

"I'm going to make a duplicate of myself downstairs, make it look like you killed me," Harry says and looks at him. "I did turn into a vampire after all."

D bows his head a little.

Harry locks the little safe and then – of course – makes sure that the code for it is in easy enough place to find. Someone with memory problems would have it written on a note, after all.

Harry takes a moment to make sure everything looks normal and untouched – less to make sure it doesn't look like D robbed him, really, rather than to make sure it doesn't look like Harry ran off. The latter wouldn't really matter – but the first would hurt the hunter's impeccable reputation. Can't have that.

They head then down and to the bar, where Harry spends some time conjuring up a fake version of himself. He builds it up, bones and muscles and all, taking the stains of his own dried blood and using them to give the duplicate both his enough human genes – and then his vampire ones as well – to pass for the real thing. That way the duplicate would handle an autopsy, if the people decided to do one, but he doubts it.

Vampire bodies tend to be burned when ever they can be, to avoid any potential revival or contamination. Hopefully they'd do the same with his fake body – and before the spells on it would fall apart.

While D watches, Harry lays the body down to look like it was cut down next to it's vampire Mistress, with a wound through it as if by a sword. Then with a final, mild compulsion added to the fake corpse to make it easier to believe, Harry is finished.

D watches him expectantly.

"Anything to say?" Harry asks, arching an eyebrow.

D looks him up and down and then shifts his cloak a little. "Let's go," he says, not even batting an eye.

Harry's other eyebrow joins it's brother for a moment and then he shakes his head with a slight smile. Alright then, he thinks and casts a last look at the bar.

It'd never been home, he wouldn't miss it. But it had been his for a while, and he would probably miss the feeling of security and stability it had given him, on and off as his memory allowed it.

Then Harry closes his eyes and stretches out a little, flexing his magic.

It's been a long... long while. As a human he never remembers this – he'd been nearly two hundred when he'd bothered to go through the lengthy process of learning the Animagus transfiguration. Which is just as well – as a human he probably would just get stuck, forgetting he'd ever been human in the first place.

Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, actually.

Harry shakes the thought from his head, it's all moot at this point. As D watches him keenly, he lets the transfiguration roll through him, shifting him – shrinking him. His bones shorten, his muscles shrink, and soon he falls on his hands and feet – on his paws.

D's face is entirely without expression as Harry stretches out his feline form and then shakes himself, long dark fur just as messy as his hair. Then, his tail held up high, Harry saunters over to D.

The hunter's expression when Harry jumps at him is utterly delightful. D is quick to catch him, and Harry doesn't get the chance to claw his way up his chest, sadly, but it's still – delightful.

"I see," D says, holding him with a firm but surprisingly gentle grip around his rib cage. For a moment he seems to weight Harry in his hands, looking him up and down. There is a muffled noise in his left palm.

"... house cat," the hand says, muffled against Harry's side. "With the hair and all, bleh."

"It changes you down to genetic level?" D murmurs and Harry flicks a ear at him and then wriggles a little, kicking his hind paws against the man's stomach. With a slow blink D shifts his grip, setting Harry on the crook of his left arm instead, letting him settle there into comfortable ball against the man's chest.

"That's some old magic," D's hand says. "Now where did you learn that?"

Harry looks down at D's hand. The... face thing looks back at him, it's weird ugly face infinitely more expressive than D's cold, beautiful one. "Well, it looks like we'll be travelling in company," the face says and then makes a face at Harry. "Don't get any ideas, fur ball. I was here first."

Harry tilts his head to the side. The face's mouth goes deeper than the dimensions of D's palm actually allow. Some dimensional expansion there. Interesting. He can definitely see the signs of the Vampire King's handiwork there.

"Did you hear me, fluff butt?" the hand face asks. "There's an order of seniority here and you are in no way -"

Harry puts a paw on it's mouth and it shuts up with a muffled sputter.

D looks down at them, his face expressionless but his eyes strangely light. Then he turns to the door and swings his cloak over Harry, hiding him from view and from the sun.

* * *

 

There'd been time when Harry had tried to figure out how to just... stop.

He'd committed suicides by the dozen, of course, but it never stuck, no matter how bad he made it. Even if he engineered it so that he had his head cut off, it magically found it's way back to his body and ended up reattached before long. Once he'd done it so that every single one of his libs ended up in different corners of the world – he was back together within the year.

He didn't try that again, though. Staying not-living longer didn't mean he got peace and rest. All it meant that he spend longer in the half-way-to-afterlife place where Death stood to greet him – and then stood in his way and didn't let him go further.

"There is only one way to stop this," Death told him. "And death is not it."

When the cosmic entity between life and death stands between you and your death... no, it doesn't work. And as tiring and endlessly dragging as living got, it was better than that place with nothing in it.

Still, every time Harry ended up there, he begged. Won't you please take me, won't you please end it. And Death never did – wouldn't, until Harry gave up to him, and Harry never would. That would be a fate worse than death, worse than life too.

So in the end he gave up on it, kept on living – kept on forgetting and forgetting and just existing for the sake of existence. There was nothing else there, after all. Just time, going on in endless forgetful spiral, and him stuck in it.

Nothing to really make it worth his while, and his while, though long, wasn't worth much anymore.

* * *

 

Harry listens curiously from the shelter of D's cloak as the dhampir talks to the Mayor and the Sheriff. His manner isn't much different from the way he talked to Harry – but he speaks more.

"... but why make it look like a vampire bite?" the doctor asks in confusion.

"It's a tactic used by younger Nobility, to make themselves seem older and more powerful than they actually are," D explains, his voice smooth and quiet. "They were, among other things, trying to foster reputation."

Somehow, though he is speaking more, he's saying less, Harry muses, tucking his paws in against D's wrist. The hand-face is gone, thankfully – withdrawn somehow into D's hand, which now looks like normal palm. He'd need to figure out what the hell the thing was and how it worked but – later.

"Why here, though?" the doctor murmurs. "There is nothing here, no Nobility, nothing valuable. Why settle down here?"'

"I'm not sure, but it seemed like they were intending to move along eventually," D says. "It did not seem their camp in the mines was permanent."

"And... Mr. Potter?" the sheriff asks.

D's hesitation is such a brief thing that it's almost not even there. Harry only notices it because D holds his breath for fraction of a second. "Failure on my part," D admits finally. "I didn't think the vampires would split, or that the younger one might come out so soon after sunset."

Harry lifts his head a little at that. In the shelter of D's cloak he's completely shielded from sun, and from view, no hope of seeing the mans eyes. Pity. He would've liked to see what infinitesimal expression he had.

"Well..." the mayor hums, sounding uncomfortable. "Whatever pay Mr. Potter promised you, I'm afraid..."

"I have been compensated," D assures the man, and Harry can almost feel the relief the words cause. Stingy old bastard, the mayor, but then most of them were.

"Well, in that case," the mayor says, a bit more jovial now. "Would you like to join us in a small celebra-"

"Apologies," D says. "I too was only passing through – it's best I get back on the road."

"Ah, of course, of course," the mayor says. "Well you have our gratitude. Without you I’m sure we would’ve lost something much more valuable than mere bar staff, haha!"

Harry's ears slant back and D's fingers flex into a fist.

"... right," the doctor says. "Well, I have patients to tend to and bodies to prepare for funerals. Excuse me..."

She'd been nice to Harry, a little bit over bearing but kind. Idly he wonders if she's sad. She doesn't sound like it, and he hopes she isn't, but at the same time... even when temporary, one would like to be mourned.

D says his brief, cool farewells and then the heat swells around Harry again as D heads out and into the sunlight. In the shelter of his cloak Harry has enough space around him for the sun to not hurt him, but it's still hot.

D's hands shifts a little, bracing Harry against his side and then, judging by the way he moves, he mounts his horse. "Sit behind me," the dhampir says and with a little stretch Harry carefully sidles around him, carefully keeping to the shelter of D's cloak, before he manages to make his way behind the man, to settle down at the back of the saddle. It's not the most comfortable perch – the saddle is definitely made to suit D's needs and D's needs alone – but Harry makes himself as comfortable as he can.

D adjusts the cloak a little, making sure it's tucked in so that no light could get through. Then he commands the horse, and the saddle under Harry shifts.

And then they're off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off.
> 
> And idk why but an Animagus Harry to me always is "really fluffy black cat".


	8. Chapter 8

 

Most of Harry's students ended up being found dead.

D followed Harry into the ruins of the old castle – or city, town, whichever it had been. Harry's point me charm led them to the catacombs under it, and there through the winding corridors and grand chambers deeper and deeper under ground.

Harry peered around in interest. As far as he could remember he'd paid very little interest into the ruins around Byernmoat, if he'd even remembered them. He'd thought it was a old city that had fallen to ruins, but looking at it now he's not so sure there'd been a city there. It kind of looks like the ruins had been build as ruins, and the catacombs under them were the main thing.

"This place is massive," he muttered and lifted his wand, now glowing at the tip.

"You seem to have a way navigating around," the vampire hunter commented from behind him, where he stood still and impassable like a statue. He was eying Harry's wand, though.

"This old thing?" Harry asked. "Family heirloom, I don't even know what it is. Seems to do it's trick."

D's eyes narrowed, and he said nothing. When Harry cast the point me charm again, though, he continued to follow.

"You have impressive constitution," D commented finally. "And an unusually strong mind."

"What was that?"

The vampire hunter glanced at him. "To walk here without being disturbed. It's unusual... for humans."

Harry blinked at him in confusion. "Well what does that make you, then?"

D looked at him flatly. "A dhampir."

"Oh," Harry said and peered at him closer. "Yeah, yeah, I see it now. Sorry, I'm all over the place here. What do you mean, disturbed?"

D just shook his head. "It doesn't seem to effect you, so... it doesn't matter."

Then – like always – Harry didn't really know about the aura of the place. Nobility protect their strongholds in many ways, and the foremost is by clouding it in air of malice and looming disaster that was usually enough to send people running in fear. The catacombs they were in were mired in a sense of unspeakable horror – which Harry couldn't even feel. The closest he got was a mild unease, but then, they were in a vampire catacombs.

"Fine, whatever," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "Let's just find my students, okay? It's way past their bed time."

"After you," D said. "You seem to know the way."

"For as long as know where I'm going," Harry said, looking down at the wand, now hovering slightly over his palm as it pointed the way. Harry concentrated with a frown. The wand tip didn't waver, pointing straight ahead. "Still on the right track, it seems."

D followed him, his steps silent in the polished stone floors while Harry stomped on ahead, making all the noise. They were both expecting the attack – D's cloak was just held out of the way so that he could grab his sword without hindrance, and Harry was already holding the Elder Wand.

That didn't make the rush of ghoul children any better, though, or any easier to handle.

They jumped from the ceiling, snarling and growling with mouths gaping, full of fangs. Harry stopped to stare, stunned motionless, and D hesitated, glancing at him – and they both got almost overrun by vampire ghouls no taller than four feet.

D knocked the first two back with gentleness Harry didn't then recognize, but could later on see. He could've just sliced the children up, cut their heads off, anything, it wouldn't even have been difficult. But he didn't – he knocked them back instead without doing damage.

"Mr. Potter," the vampire hunter said. "We need to kill them."

Harry hesitated, fingers closing around the Elder Wand's handle. He couldn't remember the kids faces, couldn't put names on them – but he knew these were his students. They had to be. Bloody hell, he sometimes really hated vampires.

"I'll do it," he said then and gripped the wand tighter. "They're my students. I'll put them down."

D glanced at him, sword in hand now, but when another ghoul child rushed at him, snarling at him, he jumped back – leaving Harry to face the child alone.

Harry pointed his wand and cast, "Arresto momentum!" and all activity ceased, the child ghouls froze in their places, still snarling but unable to move. Shaking his head, Harry stepped closer and placed his wand tip to the nearest child chest.

A silent spell, and the boy's heart was pierced by invisible force, killing the ghoul where it stood.

D watched him from the side, for a moment still holding his sword. As Harry moved to the next ghoul, he put it away. "Interesting ability you have," he commented.

"Well," Harry answered, scowling. He caught the ghoul girl as she fell and gently laid her down to the floor. He didn't say anything else, and even if D wanted to ask, he seemed to sense he'd get no answers.

Harry put his students down silently and then checked his notebook, doing the worst head count of his career as teacher.

"This is all of them," Harry said, frowning. "Unless someone else has gone missing while we've been here."

D stepped closer to look at his notebook, and then looked ahead. "I'm going after the vampire."

Harry looked up at him and put his notebook away. "You need help?"

D glanced at him and then away. "No," he said. "Get your students home."

"... good luck then," Harry said and took his wand again. He held it over his palm and then concentrated. It swung to point ahead. "Looks like it's straight ahead, but I guess you'll be able to find it yourself."

"Hm," D answered and then went to go on ahead.

Harry shook his head at him and then with a wave of the Death Stick he lifted all the children's bodies to float few feet above the floor. Lining them so that he could float them more easily down the corridor, Harry turned to lead them all back when D spoke again.

"You, that power..." he said, not turning back to Harry. "Is it magic?"

Harry hesitated and then shrugged. Whatever, he thought – the likelihood of him seeing this dhampir again were pretty minuscule. Vampire hunters didn't live very long.

"The oldest magic there is," he said, and left, taking the bodies of his students with him.

* * *

 

There is a weight on Harry's back, waking him from the stone like sleep of a vampire. D's hand through the fabric of his cloak feeling around Harry until he could dip his fingers around Harry's feline body and lift him up, still wrapped in his cloak.

Harry meows inquisitively, unable to even lift his head. The sun is still up, and his whole body feels like lead, even in his animagus form.

"It's almost sunset," D answers quietly. "I'm taking you to shelter."

He walks for a bit, horse following him judging by the sound of it while Harry is tucked gently against his chest. Harry tries to stretch out the stiffness of his limbs in the confines of D's cloak and his hold, but his body refuses to answer.

Then the oppressive heat of sunlight fades a little, and Harry feels space of darkness expanding around him, easing the sun's unforgiving grip on him.

D eases the cloak off Harry, who hangs a little limply from his arm. Harry slants his ears down and then looks around, yawning.

They're in what looks like a tomb, surrounded by smooth stone walls on all around. There's a entry way where the sunlight is still shining, but it's several feet away, safely out of reach.

Harry stands, stretches on D's arm, and then jumps down. The impact with the floor rattles through his still stiff body, but the shudder only makes the shift back into a more human form easier.

"Your saddle is not made for second rider," Harry complains, rubbing at his shoulder and yawning.

"No," D agrees and then turns away. As Harry tries to shake the stiffness of day away, D unclasps his cloak and then lets it fall off his shoulder, catching it before it falls to the floor. Moment later, he has it thrown over the door way, blocking out the last of the light and plunging them both into soothing darkness.

Harry sighs. That's better. "What's your opinion on saddle bags?"

"I don't need them," D answers and turns to him.

"I could need one," Harry sighs and falls to sit on the floor. "I wouldn't have to worry about falling off the saddle when noon hits and I can't move anymore."

He looks up and then blinks. D looks – different without the cloak covering everything up. Harry's not sure how surprised he is about the fact that the man's shoulders are actually as wide as the cloak makes them look. That waist and those shoulders...

D's anatomy is impossibly perfect. Of course it is.

D arches an eyebrow at him and Harry looks away. "Well," D says after moment. "If you want to make one, that's fine," he says. "So as long as it's not a hindrance."

"Right," Harry says and scratches at his neck, glancing at him. "Why did we stop?" he then asks. "You can travel during the night too, can't you?"

"I don't want to get used to it," D answers and looks around the room. Some sort of old temple – or a cheap vampire rest house. "Being able to stay active during sunlight hours is my best advantage against Nobility."

"Ah," Harry says. "I suppose to more you're awake during the night, the harder days are for you?"

D doesn't answer, finishing his silent inspection of the place and then turning back to him. Harry looks back, one leg propped up and resting his elbow on it.

Now that they're here, and stuck together... now what? He has no idea what to do with this. It's been... easily millennia since he last travelled with company, and longer since someone knew this much about him. And D is especially difficult – because he won't just go ahead and ask.

Harry looks down at his hand, flexing his fingers. Feeling is coming back now that he's out of even reflected sunlight – he's staring to feel more alive. "My nails are already sharpening," he mutters and spreads his fingers out. "Why does that happen? I've never figured that one out – why do all vampires have sharp nails? It's not like they help with blood drinking."

"You're a predator," D answerers, watching him. "Predators have claws."

"Hm," Harry answers. "What does that make you?"

D doesn't answer, still just looking at him.

"What?" Harry asks, looking up at him. D's eyes narrow and Harry sighs. "We can either not talk about it and pretend we don't know, or we can talk about it and deal with it. But the staring and not saying anything is starting to get a bit old. Just ask me, D."

He doesn't, of course he doesn't. He just states, "You're the Last Lord of Magic."

"And you've got the Vampire King's blood running through your veins," Harry answers and tilts his head. "Don't you?"

D's lowers his chin a little at that, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat. Then he turns away.

"You look just like him," Harry says to his back, letting his eyes trail down. it's hard not to – at every angle, D is a sight to behold. "Well not just, not exactly, but it's close enough to be recognizable for someone who's seen the Sacred Ancestor himself, and I've had the dubious pleasure many many times. I don't know what the relationship there is, but you hunt vampires – it must be complicated."

D is quiet for a while. "It isn't," he admits and closes his eyes. "It is... fairly straightforward, really."

Harry tilts his head a little. "Is he still alive?" he asks.

"I don't know," D admits quietly. "I'm looking for him."

Well... that's interesting.

Harry looks away, frowning a little. He can feel the phantom sensation of blades, claws, needles... fangs. Even after nine thousand years, it makes him shudder a little.

It was in the Vampire King's palace – and under his close scrutiny – that Harry learned the limitations of vampirism on him. Year, and the Vampire King's kiss on his neck faded. Three years, and he could stay awake during the day again with minimal weakness. Five years, and he started regaining some resistance to sunlight. Six, and he got back the very human urge to eat food – all the while suffering a vampire's inability to digest it...

Seven years and he could step into full daylight again, fully human once more. Or rather, he could have sunlight shone on him, and not get burned – it wasn't as if the Sacred Ancestor of the Vampire Nobility let him leave during any of it.

Harry lifts his hand to his neck, to touch the Nobility's Kiss there, just as fresh at had been the previous night. All the times he's had one, and it still feels so damn alien.

Sighing Harry digs through his pockets and then sets the cigarette case sized trunk onto the floor. The Elder Wand appears to his fingers at a thought, and with a tap of it's tip against the case, Harry turns the trunk back to it's original size.

D watches him over his shoulder as Harry riffles through his clothes, finding a black jacket and a hat he'd only worn once, to a funeral. He lifts them into the air with a spell and pins them there before standing up.

It's weirdly comforting, to use this much magic again and not really have to worry about it. And since D already knows... Harry might as well go all out.

The dhampir watches him closely but says nothing as Harry waves his wand over the floating jacket and hat, changing their material into something little more sun proof before stretching it out into dimensions more fitting a wizard. Harry turns the jacket into a proper robe and the hat into something little more familiar, rather than the flat thing it is now.

D blinks slowly at the clothes, but makes no comment. The face on his hand isn't nearly so reticent. "What the hell is that?" it asks. "You're tying to compete with D for the worst dressed creature of the night award?"

"Silence in the peanut gallery," Harry says and takes the robe from the air, swinging it over his shoulders and tucking his hands into the wide sleeves. It settles on him with surprising familiarity, considering it's been literally thousands of years since he wore one.

After checking he had made everything sturdy enough, Harry picks up the pointy ended hat from the air and puts it on, running his hands over it to tilt the end backwards a little.

"There," he says. "Bit more fitting for the Last Lord of Magic, you reckon?"

"You look like a homeless person," the hand says while D looks Harry up and down.

"Fitting," Harry says. "Seeing as I am one. You, on the other hand, have no leg to stand on."

"How dare you," the hand answers, sounding almost delighted.

D sighs at them and turns away, to sit by the door with his back against the wall. He sets his sword in his lap and then tucks his wide brimmed hat down, effectively shutting himself out of the conversation.

Harry rest a hand at his hip, staring at him. Damn, he thinks, letting his eyes trail down D's hips and long legs, of which his skin tight clothes hide none of. Had the Vampire King designed his son to be eye candy? There's not a part of the man that doesn't look utterly glorious.

Well... vampires did like pretty things.

"Double double, toil and trouble," Harry mutters and looks at the cloak D had pitched over the doorway. "Sun's down. I'm going to have a look around."

"Do as you wish," D answers. "I'll leave at sunrise."

"I won't go far."

Harry moves the cloak aside and then steps out.

There's still a slight tinge of red to the sky, last hints of twilight fading, but it's dark enough not to hurt. Harry peers up at the sky just in case before stepping out of the shelter of the stone building.

D had stopped at ruins. The world is full of them, of course, and these are just one in thousands, but for ruins these ones are especially well preserved. They're on the edge of the dry plains Harry had once crossed to get to Grezha, and the heat had preserved the stone structures in a way more wet place wouldn't have.

It looks a little bit like those old Greek and Roman ruins. If they even exist anymore – the Nobility had done away with lot of human history when they'd purged Christianity off the face of the world. The ancient Rome had lot to do with it, so...

Harry walks among the stone pillars and collapsed walls, the hem of his robe whispering against the dry rock of the ground, and he feels a little like an alien tourist, peering at a past that he knows nothing about. Which, really, isn't that far from the truth.

The moon is rising now, it's light cold and unforgiving over the stone ruins casting every flaw and fault into stark contrast against the deep shadows it casts. in the light, Harry's skin looks white.

"What am I doing," he mutters at his pale fingers and lengthening, sharpening nails. He's a vampire – willingly and with no plans to walk into the first sunrise available.

Something he swore against ages ago.

Harry bows his head a little. "How the mighty fall, eh, Death?" he murmurs. "Give it another ten thousand years, and I'll probably be bending to your will too."

A cold shadow passes over the moon, though there isn't a cloud in the sky, and Harry can almost hear that rattle of a laugh, deep and chilling.

Harry scoffs and turns back to the still mostly upright building where D had taken shelter for the night. With a sigh, he settles down in front of it, to keep watch. It's the least he can do, he supposes, for now.

* * *

 

Eshersire, the supposed-soon-to-be beacon of civilisation, attracted vampire attention almost immediately with it's big building projects and grand plans. Even these days, with Nobility's power waning and their rule long since over, they don't endure such challenges easily.

The attacks started almost immediately. People disappearing on their way to the bar, there were "accidents" in the construction sites, and every night someone woke up dead in their beds and attacked their neighbours in mad, craven blood lust.

Eshersire, for all it's plans, was doomed from the start.

Still, the young mayor with big plans had bought the best, and the best did everything he could to stop the attacks.

Harry had nothing to do with it, really – the only reason he got involved was because D knew him, and kept coming back to talk to him. It was almost flattering - except at that point Harry was too deep in the bottle to be flattered by anything, really.

"What happened in Byernmoat?" D asked him.

"I don't know what that is. A place?" Harry asked blearily while peering down at the bottle. He wasn't sure where he got the bottle, but it used to have something like wine in it, he was pretty sure.

"A town," D said, watching him. "You used to live there, five years ago."

"Huh," Harry answered and then threw the bottle away, annoyed. It crashed against a rock and broke. Harry eyed it for a moment and then shrugged. "Can't say I remember. Don't you have someone else to bother, pretty boy? You were hired to deal with he bloodsuckers – go deal."

D narrowed his eyes at him, standing over him while Harry slumped down on the ground in annoyed disappointment.

"You had some... abilities," D said slowly.

Harry blinked up at him. "Fuck – I was a whoring myself out? The hell would you want a whore for, you're pretty enough to get anyone you want. Well I guess – if you have the money..."

In hindsight, the speed with which D ran off was pretty funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter or two and i can call quits with this fic.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry looks up from the bottom of his little sleeping cubby. There's a shadow over it, deepening the already impenetrable darkness he'd created inside – someone, D most likely, had just thrown a cloth over the saddlebag.

Moment later, the lid is opened. "We've arrived," D says and holds a hand into the saddlebag – left hand. It must still be light outside, since he's shielding the whole process with his cloak. Alright then.

Harry gets up, stretching out his stiff limbs and then, taking a moment to brush against D's fingers, he lets himself be grabbed around the belly. D lifts him from the perfect darkness and into the slightly less perfect shelter of his cloak instead, tucking Harry against his chest.

It takes effort not to purr – the reason Harry doesn't is because Lefty is looking at him.

"Fuzz butt," the hand murmurs at him and then makes a face when Harry presses a paw on his nose. Against his side, he can feel D's chest move as he sighs silently.

Around them, beyond the shield of D's cloak, Harry can hear activity of what sounds like fairly busy street. D moves then, stepping away from the horse and walking on what sounds like actual stone street – not quite asphalt and not cobblestone. something smoother. Interesting, how D bothers to make sounds of footsteps for once. There must be people watching.

Moment later the sound of D's boots take on a more wooden sound and judging by the feel of him he's going up stairs. Then, deeper, fuller darkness of indoors.

Harry takes opportunity to grind his paws on Lefty's face as he quickly pushes out from the shelter of D's cloak, and to look around. D lifts his hand just a little, as good as an invitation, and quickly Harry jumps up from his hand and to his shoulder.

They are, judging by the looks of it, in some sort of town hall. It's big, as Frontier buildings go, with high ceiling and benches and couches everywhere. There's even a horse shoe counter at the very end. It's all wood, too, though whether it's a show of wealth or the effect of the lack of it, Harry isn't sure. It tends to depend from town to town.

There are people there, most of them in suits, and they're all staring at D as he walks towards the horseshoe counter.

"Y-yes?" the young man behind the counter asks, somehow simultaneously paling and going red.

"I was invited by Mayor Lewis," the dhampir says. "I'm D, a vampire hunter."

Harry looks around them over D's shoulder, past his hair. They definitely have everyone's interest now. All activity in the place ceases and the people who had been not so surreptitiously admiring D's looks are now just outright staring at him in interested, tense silence.

"Vampire – I – yes, of course – right," the man behind the counter says and quickly stumbles to his feet. "Just a moment, sir."

D says nothing, watching the young man stumbling away to report his arrival. Harry watches with interest as people watch them, now leaning to murmur to each other.

"A vampire hunter, really..."

"Well, he looks weird enough..."

"... might be all looks, I mean, look at him, that young..."

"That's one massive sword, you think he can use it...?"

"... what's with the cat...?"

"... didn't know vampire hunters came that good looking. You think he's..."

Harry flicks his ear at them and then, settling down with his tail wrapped over D's hair, he looks at the dhampir. D glances at him side eyed and then looks ahead again, ignoring the increasingly rude murmuring around them.

Soon after the young man comes back, along with a harangued looking white haired woman.

"Mayor Lewis?" D asks.

"Oh, it really is you," the woman says and sighs. "Good, good, for a moment there – never mind. Please, follow me, to my office."

The murmuring grows twice as loud as they leave the hall, following the Mayor from the hall and into the sparsely decorated corridor beyond and from there to her somewhat modest office.

Lack of wealth it is. There must be lot of forest around.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am you arrived so quickly. I was prepared to wait, but... the sooner the better," the Mayor says and takes something from under her simple wooden desk – a simple brown folder. She opens it and tilts it up. "This is the thing."

D looks down at the folder – at the image on it. Harry does the same, standing up and grabbing hold of D's shoulder with his nails so that he can look down.

there's a drawing on the first page, a tower of some sort drawn from what looks like half a mile off. A very gothic looking tower. A Noble's tower.

"It appeared just south of the town couple of weeks ago," the Mayor says and falls to sit by her desk, looking exhausted. "And every since then, the people on that side of the town have been acting... increasingly strange."

"Strange," D repeats, taking the picture and lifting it up for closer examination. Fourteen levels at least, Harry thinks, and who knows how deep under ground it goes.

"Insane," the Mayor answers flatly. "They scream at night and wander the streets at day like they're sleep walking. Sometimes they snap out of it and act as if nothing is wrong, but then they lapse back into stupor. One of them even attacked her own mother and later didn't remember a thing."

D lowers the picture back into the folder and takes the next picture this one a photograph taken of a set of bite marks on someone's neck.

So, they have at least one camera in the town and ability to actually print out pictures – but they'd resorted to drawing the tower? Harry tilts his head a little to look at D and the dhampir's lips tighten a little.

"When was this?" D asks.

"Week ago," Mayor Lewis sighs, crossing her hands and looking down. "Stupid girl, probably went to look at the tower. She attacked a guardsman in the early morning – he managed to put her down, though, thankfully."

Harry slants his ears back and settles down on D's shoulder again, tail whipping against D's hair in displeasure. He then almost jumps out of his skin when D lifts a hand to place on his side – not petting him, just holding it there. What?

"And then?" D asks, his voice as expressionless as his face.

The Mayor looks up, glances at Harry and then at D again. "And that's all we know," she admits. "There haven't been other victims, but the tower is still there, and every night people around it scream. And it seems the effect is... spreading, and houses further and further away from the tower are being effected. The longer this goes on..."

She trails off and shakes her head. "We haven't much to pay you with," she says apologetically. "Fifty thousand dalas is the most we can afford. Is... is it enough?"

D considers it for a moment, looking down at the images on the folder.

"Seventy thousand," he says. "And the issue will be dealt with tonight."

The mayor's mouth opens a little and then snaps shut. She looks conflicted for a moment. "Well..." she says and then scowls. "No, the sooner we get this dealt with, the better. I will get the rest of the funds from my own private savings."

She stands up and holds out a hand for D to shake. "If the tower is gone by tomorrow morning, you will have your seventy thousand."

D shakes her hand without hesitation, his left hand still on Harry's side, holding him in place. "Tomorrow, then."

The mayor nods and sighs. "Do you need any -"

"No," D says, abrupt as usual, and then turns to leave. Harry sees the Mayor open her mouth to say something before shaking her head and then bowing it.

"Till tomorrow," she says, and the door closes behind D, hiding her in view.

Harry flicks his tail against D's hair and then wraps it around his wrist, licking at the man's thumb to get his attention. D glances at him and then sighs.

"An illusionist most likely" he explains.

So, no tower.

Harry settles down again, giving D's hand a curious look. D looks ahead and then lowers it, slipping his wrist from Harry's tail's loose grip. He doesn't lower the hand entirely though, holding it open for Harry.

Right, it's still light out, Harry thinks and sighs. They're just entering the main lobby of the town hall as he jumps down to land daintily on D's palm – Lefty isn't there, more's the pity. D tucks him against his chest again and lets the cloak fall over him and then Harry is in shadow once more.

The people murmur as D walks briskly through the hall and outside, back to his horse – this time Harry doesn't listen in.

"What a pointless job," Lefty mutters, pushing through the skin of D's hand again and making a face. "No wonder she didn't give any details before. And you, how about a little respect?" he sniffs at Harry.

Harry flicks a ear at him and then tilts his head in question.

"Seventy thousand, tch," Lefty mutters. "Useless."

D seems to agree, his fingers twitching a little. Then Lefty is pressed against Harry's side as D grabs him by the chest to keep him in place – moment later the dhampir is getting on his horse.

Harry lifts his ears a little as D settles him down on his lap, instead of the saddlebag. Well, it is close to night fall...

"Hey, D?" Lefty asks, as D lifts his hand out of the shelter of his cloak and to take the reigns. "Are we really going to waste our time with a little job like this? They're paying pennies."

"We're already here and we've done more for less," D answers, his voice low and then urges the horse on.

Seventy thousand is pennies? Harry tucks D's cloak over himself with his teeth and then curls down a little, making himself as comfortable as he can in the rather awkward place D put him in – right over his crotch, which of course, is just lovely.

His head spins a little to think what D considers acceptable pay, though, if seventy thousand is pennies for these guys.

* * *

 

Even after Harry got out of the vampire king's hold, it was never safe for him to really make much noise about himself. At that point the Nobility were almost done with their total dominion over earth – with their subjugation of human race. Wizards were gone, magic was thing of the past – but vampires lived a long time, and they still remembered.

And muggleborns were still a thing, and were hunted and slaughtered without mercy when ever they had the bad fortune of developing visible abilities.

Harry might be able to survive all of it – but after thousand years at the Vampire King's mercy... he didn't feel particularly like going through any of it again at the hands of some lesser Noble.

He started developing his way of living straight away. His memory was already all but gone, but he had enough of it left to develop his method, and memorise them over constant repetitions over the next several years. He went back to Hogwarts for long enough to make sure he had a linear record of past events to fall to if he needed – his journals and the histories he'd written before his stay at the Vampire King's palace.

Then he took a leaf of the King's book – and became a truly transient guest in the house of life. He never accumulated enough wealth for it to be noticeable, he never made noise about himself – he didn't become a hero, he didn't become a villain, he shied away from everything that might make him in any way interesting. He got used to poverty, forgetfulness and to being forgotten.

And usually it was enough. It protected him when the Nobility were in power, and the last hope of wizards returning to Earth died with their genetic experiments that finally weeded out any potential of that beautiful full array of magical abilities appearing again in human populations. It protected him through the tumultuous years that marked their downfall, when humanity raged wars against their immortal overlords, and somehow came out victorious.

In this post Nobility world, however...

No one remembers Wizards anymore. Few are the nobles that still remain from those times, and even their memories can fail. Wizards have now been gone longer than they ever reigned superior over magic, and Harry doubts even the Vampire King himself would have the energy to mind anymore. Those times are gone, those wars won and lost and forgotten. No one cares.

Harry doesn't need to fade into anonymity anymore.

He's not sure what to do with that thought, though. After all – it's not like he cares either.

* * *

 

D stops the horse and lifts his cloak enough for Harry to see the fading light of the sunset, already sinking into the horizon. Night has fallen.

With a stretch, Harry stands up on D's saddle and then has a look around.

It looks roughly like the picture of the tower – except the tower itself is missing. All there is, is the plant life that had been sketched out in the image, trees and bushes in neatly cultivated rows – and in midst of them, where the tower was supposed to be, a broken down carriage.

Harry looks up at D, perking his ears a little in question. The dhampir looks down, his face without expression. Alright then, Harry thinks – and transforms into human right there, practically in D's lap.

D leans back a little, now frowning.

"Now what?" Harry asks, stretching a little just because he can – and because D is actually expressing at him and every expression he gets out of the man is a small victory. And this one happens to come along with seat in D's lap, so, a double victory.

"I'll deal with the vampire," D answers, glancing him up and down.

"Well, yes," Harry agrees and then settles down, one leg thrown over D's thigh and grinning a little. "I figure that's why we're here. But what do you want from me. Back up?"

D blinks slowly and then looks away. Then to Harry's disappointment, he slides away from under him and off the horse entirely, leaving Harry sitting on the saddle alone, and backwards to boot.

"Stay with the horse," the dhampir says. "This won't take long."

"Yeah, no kidding," Lefty mutters. "What a drag."

Harry looks after them before awkwardly flipping around in the saddle. Though he grabs hold of the reins, the horse doesn't answer his commands – of course not, it's keyed on D. Sighing, Harry let's the reins go and leans back on the saddle.

"I'm not entirely sure why you want me around," Harry mutters. "I'm not being much use to you."

D doesn't answer, already at the carriage. It had a broken wheel and a hole in the roof, and it looks like something big with claws attacked the thing. That's probably what happened to the horses. Dragon, maybe – they occasionally attack horses, thinking they're actual animals.

Horses, like lot of other old world creatures, are long since extinct in their original form, though. Idly Harry wonders if D had ever seen a real horse – or, hell, a magical one. They were never near as obedient as the robotic versions they have now.

There is a sound of crashing and a wail from the carriage. Harry rests his chin on his knuckles and waits, and soon enough D steps out, dragging a corpse with him as he does.

He leaves it there, next to the carriage – to be burned by sunlight.

"That's it?" Harry asks, as the dhampir joins him again.

"Wounded lesser noble," Lefty says with a scoff. "Still half asleep after day. wasn't even a challenge."

"Move," D says. Harry blinks and then shifts in the saddle, moving back a little. D fits his high heeled boot in the stirrup and gets back on the horse on one smooth move, sitting in front of Harry.

Damn, he's tall.

"Are all your jobs this easy?" Harry asks, looking down. D's cloak is in the way, pity.

"Not usually," D answers and takes the reins. with a slightest kick of his heel, the horse turns and they leave the broken carriage behind.

"Yeah, we don't bother with useless jobs like these – anyone can do this," Lefty says with a scoff, not quite muffled by the reins. "Usually we deal with real threat. And get real pay for it."

"...we?"

Harry grins at the cool tone of D's voice and Lefty falls quickly silent. "Right," Harry says. "Well that's job well done and all. What are we going to do for the rest of the night?"

"I am going to find a place to sleep," D answers and urges the horse on, from a light trot to an easy canter.

"Alright," Harry says. "I guess I'll sit around and stare at your pretty face all night."

D's hand twitches on the reins and the leather makes a noise. "... if you must," he says, his voice still chilly, but his knuckles are definitely tighter now.

Harry leans back, his hands against the horse's back, and grins proudly. He's getting better.

* * *

 

"Here again?" Harry asked, tilting his head as he peered up against the light at the human shadow standing over him. With all the hat, throwing stark shadows on the man's face, he couldn't see that pretty face – but even Eshersire people weren't fancy enough to wear cloaks. No one except this one guy. "Changed your mind?"

"You're drunk," D commented coldly.

"I'm always drunk," Harry said mockingly. "You want me sober, you need to sober me up. And I'll charge by the hour."

D was quiet for a moment, just looking at him – and even through the fading haze of bad brandy, it struck Harry a little odd. The fancy vampire hunter was then – and still is today – one of the most attractive people he'd ever seen. D's interest in Harry then was not just a little unusual – it was downright abnormal.

"If I pay, will you answer my questions?" D asked finally.

Harry arched his eyebrows. "Questions," he repeated, the unusualness of it finally cutting through the alcohol a little. "What sort of questions?"

"Your full name, for one."

Harry narrowed his eyes. What had the guy said – something about some other place where they'd met before? Harry couldn't remember a thing about it, of course, but...

Harry didn't really care. He was hungry, thirsty, homeless, he hated his existence and he wanted to die. What was the worst that could happen – that hadn't already happened to him?

Bloody hell, a night of questionable choices might actually be the best thing that happened to him in couple thousand years, especially if it ended up involving sex. He might not remember a thing about it in couple of days but...

"Fuck it. If you pay me you can do whatever you want, love," Harry said and then stumbled to his feet, wavering a little. He couldn't see people around them – didn't remember where he was really, on side walk on some street in Eshersire but why there and when he got there, he wasn't sure. It didn't really matter.

He didn't care.

D eyed him quietly for a moment, and it's only two hundred years later that Harry recognises the sadness in his eyes. "How much?"

That night was in the end the reason why Harry got bitten and died – because D's interest in him made the vampires the hunter was chasing interested in turn. Harry became the bait in their bloody trap – and in the end, the trap's executor.

Not that it worked, of course. Blood crazed and utterly out of it, Harry couldn't even speak never mind fight properly when D found him, surrounded by corpses and covered in blood.

The memory of the look D gave him there, in that blood splattered chamber... Harry could have done without.

* * *

 

Harry leans to a wall, watching D sleep. Even in sleep the dhampir's face remains cold and impassive. His face really is stuck that way – it's his resting face. Harry's not sure if that's sad or hilarious. it's something, anyway.

Resting his chin on his palm, Harry just watches him for a long while. Two hundred years, and he's still not sure what someone like D cares about someone like him. He must care, at least enough to keep an eye on him, since he's still enduring Harry's presence in his life.

It really is abnormal though. Supernatural even.

Harry sighs and rummages through his pockets until he comes away with a gleaming metal case. Inside the five capsules of synthetic blood sit in their red velvet bed, still untouched. It would be another week or so before he'd really need them.

Not that he'd mind having one right now, but... one must be sparing with expensive things.

Last time, D had bought him for a mere hundred dala an hour – seven hundred dalas in total, if Harry had ever gotten paid. Well, he had... he just hadn't lived to spend it all.

He's not sure if he's lucky or unlucky that D hadn't known the right questions to ask back then. If he had, he probably wouldn't have buried Harry in the frontier wilderness, leaving him behind to heal and recover and eventually crawl out of the grave D had made for him.

And now here they are again – though this time Harry isn't being paid for his words, just his presence, and he's paid in blood rather than money. Somehow the trade off doesn't seem entirely equal.

Closing the case, Harry leans back against the wall for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he looks at D again, still asleep, still ethereally pretty – and still not asking the right questions.

"Well, one day maybe," Harry sighs. "Still kinda wishing you would've used me for sex back then, you know. That would've been a lovely thing to remember. Much nicer than being stabbed, anyway."

Shaking his head Harry leans his head back and settles down to rest. He can't sleep during the night, like all vampires he is very much nocturnal and thus most awake when it was darkest. But he might as well make the attempt – who knows, it might work.

It looks like his stay with D might last a while. Might as well settle in for the long haul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapteeer and then we're done, woot woot.


	10. Chapter 10

Yawning, Harry watches the light in the distant horizon over the desert. The sandy waste flickers and blurs with something that isn't quite a mirage and already he can see a glimpse of sun, just breaching through the air over the distant mountains. Dawn was breaking. Soon, it would be sweltering hot again.

Squinting a little, Harry stares at the sun. Then he looks backwards, at D. The Dhampir is still asleep – recovering from a recent blow, he sleeps a little longer. From experience Harry knows it won't take longer than few days for D to be back to normal, but for now... it's a good opportunity to experiment.

Silent, the vampire stands up and then takes off his hat, leaving it on the sand beside D. The robot horse gives him a look as Harry opens the clasps of his cloak and then lets it fall to the ground. Moment later, his shirt joins them and he stands bared from waist up in the dawn light.

Cautiously Harry steps out of the shadow properly and stands in the light as sun slowly but inexorably rises.

It's a little uncomfortable, even this cold light feels like the oppressive heat of the highest mid noon sun... but it's not burning him. Sun rises, and it doesn't burn.

Harry lifts his pale, long nailed hand and watches his fingers throw shadows into the light sun casts on his palm. It's been about six years now – and already he's sun proof. Hunger for human food would start soon – and after that his memory would start failing him again.

"I guess it was a good run," Harry murmurs and looks up at the sun. His vision is already going a little blurry too – he'd need to find some glasses again soon. And then...

He's not sure what then. Six years he'd been a vampire, six years he'd endured his own memories and learned to live with them. Six years with D...

Soon it would be gone again.

Shaking his head, Harry turns back to the shadows of the where D had sheltered for the night – collapsed ruins of once a factory, where enough of the second floor and walls remained to create a semblance of roof.

Harry's not surprised to find D awake, and watching him.

"Starting to be bit more human again," Harry says and shrugs as the sunlight falls on his shoulders. "It'll be few more months before I can be any use during the day time and I'll get good old fashioned sun burn in a flash, but for now -"

"Come away from there," D says, sounding a little exasperated. Or as exasperated as he ever gets.

Smiling, Harry steps back into the shadows – his arms and chest are already a little bit sunburnt. "It's fine," he says. "It doesn't hurt."

The dhampir just looks at him and then sits up from where he'd been sleeping against the wall. He lifts his sword to his back and then looks at Harry, examining Harry's torso. "How long?"

Harry shrugs again. "Few weeks now," he admits. "I didn't test it before though."

D's eyes narrow a little, trailing down the reddened skin of Harry's shoulder. Then he looks above harry, past his shoulder and the sunlit desert. "And how long from now...?"

"Probably less than a year," Harry says and follows his gaze. "I don't know if it's exactly the same time every time – this is only the second time I've gone on for this long."

D doesn't say anything for a moment, looking at the desert with his face inscrutable, as usual. Then he lifts a hand and touches his side – where a dragon had taken an actual chunk out. It's healing, had stopped bleeding pretty much immediately – but it takes longer for him to replace missing flesh than it is to knit a slash.

"We have no job lined up," he says then and turns back to the shadow. "Let's wait the day out."

Harry arches his eyebrows at the man's back and then looks back at the desert around them. Well... wounded, weakened and in desert, it's not a good combination for D. He too is affected by sun, and too much of it would take him out too after being exposed for too long.

"Whatever you want," Harry says and then bends down to pick up his discarded clothes. the sun is starting to reflect back on them from the half collapsed walls – soon it too would get unbearable. "It's not much of a shelter, though."

"Then turn into a cat," D says and sits back down in a sigh, leaning against the wall.

Harry doesn't, pulling his shirt and robe on slowly, watching the Dhampir. There is something weird in the man's tone of voice. A new tension. "What are you thinking?" he asks suspiciously. No answer. "D?"

The dhampir sighs and closes his eyes. Then he moves a little, taking something out from under his cloak. A familiar looking metal case.

Harry stops in the act of buttoning up his robe and stares as D takes out a blood capsule. The dhampir breaks the glass cap off with flick of his long nailed thumb and then, without ceremony, knocks it back.

Harry hesitates and then, slowly, goes to him as the glass phial falls from D's hand and he inhales shakily. D takes blood as rarely as he can possibly swing it, sometimes months go by before he relents – now, it's been less than three weeks. Sure, he's injured right now, but...

D let's out snarl, his face sharpening a little as he bares his teeth, his fangs lengthening, gaining the red tint of the older Nobility. As Harry sits down beside him, the Dhampir turns his face away and grinds his teeth together, literally biting the transformation back – though not before Harry sees the flash of red eyes.

For a moment D just breathes through his clenched teeth, the fangs still long, still needle sharp, until he finally gets himself under control and the vicious, inhuman sharpness of his face starts easing off again.

Harry wants to touch him desperately – but knows if he does, D will just lash out at him.

"That was a bit unusual," Harry comments cautiously. "That wound was nothing you couldn't heal on your own in time."

The wound is gone now, though – the dent on D's waist has already filled out, the missing flesh already replaced. Perfect and flawless, once more.

D draws a breath and the voice not his own answers Harry with a cackle. "Well he can't very well bite you when he's weak, can he, fluff butt?"

D clenches his hand into a fist to muffle Lefty and then, for a moment, avoids looking at Harry. The wizard falls to sit on the sand, staring at him with surprise and finally D's gaze slides, almost hesitant, to him.

"You can turn someone into a vampire," Harry says slowly. "But you're -"

D sighs. "I'm old," he says simply, full of unspoken meaning.

"... right," Harry says and looks down at the ground between them. Then he looks back over his shoulder and at the sunrise again. From this angle, he can't see the sun, but judging by the light it's fully risen now.

His first sunrise in six years.

"You don't want it?" D asks, his voice growing chilly.

"Of course I want it," Harry says and squeezes his hands into fists. "But not at your expense."

D is old, powerful, stronger than most of the more powerful Nobles – but he doesn't like giving into his vampire heritance. Every time he has to it must feel like forfeit, like a failure. Drinking blood, weakness to and in sunlight, those are unavoidable.

Biting someone, turning them into a vampire? It goes against everything D is.

Harry looks at the dhampir and D stares back at him, his face void of expression. His eyes are losing their hardness though, and in the direction of his left side Lefty cackles, his voice muffled in D's fingers.

"You're already forgetting things," D says coolly. "Jobs, places, people we've met. How long until you forget me?"

Harry shakes his head, a little helpless. "I'm sure I won't – we've been together six years now, day in, day out, I'm sure -"

"You've done things longer than that and forgotten," D says harshly. "How long until you forget me?"

Probably not very long.

Harry looks at him helplessly and then sighs, running a hand over his neck. The bite mark he got from the nameless vampire six years ago is long gone, but he can feel the ghost of fangs there. The no-name noble who was first to bit him, the Vampire King who was the second, the others after that...

D reaches out and takes his hand by the wrist, taking it off his neck. As Harry sits there, not quite sure what to do, the dhampir touches his neck, where Harry's pulse is starting to beat double pace.

"Harry?" D asks quietly.

"We have no job right now," Harry says, while D's thumb presses slowly on his pulse point. "I was thinking, maybe we could... take a little break. There's a place I want to visit, a castle I used to live in. I don't know if it's still there, though, but I'd want to find out."

D's thump stills. "Before you forget," he clarifies, his voice growing cold. He starts to pull his hand back.

Harry smiled and lifts his hand on top of D's, holding it in place. "While I can still enter it," he admits. "It's protected against vampires. I'm not sure if a dhampir can enter it, there weren't any around when I made those protections, but..."

D frowns a little, looking at him. "Where is it?"

"Pretty far away," Harry admits. "Weeks, maybe months away."

The dhampir considers him, his fingers warm and cold against Harry's skin, his nails long but not sharp like Harry's. Human and vampire, all at once. And Harry, his vampirism fading back into humanity, struggles with his body's reaction to him.

Right now, D makes him both naturally terrified and ravenously _thirsty_. It's confusing and thrilling all at once – even more so than usual. It feels like his heart is about to beat it's way right out of his chest and fall helplessly into D's hands. It would be embarrassing if Harry wasn't so far beyond embarrassment.

"Calm down," D says flatly.

"You're touching me – you're lucky I'm not flying up the walls," Harry says with a little laugh and leans into D's hand. "Will you come to see Hogwarts with me?"

D's fingernail digs into Harry's pulse for a moment and his eyes gleam redly in the dawn light. Then he spreads his cool-warm fingers out, almost wrapping them around Harry's neck entirely. "And after?" he asks.

Harry smiles and runs his hand down D's wrist. "Well, good things come to those who wait."

* * *

 

Hogwarts stands on a hill that can't be climbed, surrounded by grave stones and a moat that can't be crossed. Behind it, the whirl of magic blurs it into the surrounding mountains, making it look like a distant mirage, an illusion so far away that the mind refused to accept it's existence.

Harry peers up at it from the shore of the acid moat, D standing at his back. For once, it's Harry, leading the way.

"Can you see it?" Harry asks, and his voice is barely audible. His chest aches painfully.

"... yes," D says. "But it is unclear."

Harry nods and swallows and then glances at the dhampir. "What are we doing here?" he demands a little brokenly.

"You wanted to see it," D says, lowering his eyes from the castle to the wizard. "You don't remember?"

"I -" Harry hesitates and then rummages through his pockets. "My notebook," he says. "Where is it, did I write down why we're here on it?"

"You don't keep one anymore," D tells him and then reaches out. Harry startles but stays in place as the dhampir places his palm on Harry's forehead.

"Calm down, fluff butt," a voice murmurs against his head – and it clears. "You know why we're here. You just forgot for a bit."

"Oh," Harry says and D lifts his hand. Lefty has his lips pressed together tight and he looks almost worried. "Yeah, I – sorry. I remember now," Harry says and rubs at his neck, turning back to the castle where he'd spent the happiest – and saddest – years of his long existence.

D looks down at him silently for a moment and then looks ahead again. "How do we cross the moat?"

"We walk," Harry says and holds out his hand. The Elder Wand materialises into his fingers, followed by the Gaunt Ring appearing on his right middle finger. Then the cool embrace of the invisibility cloak over his shoulder, falling like a funeral shroud.

The Keys to Hogwarts.

"Stay close to me," Harry says and then steps into the acid moat.

It splits open ahead of him, opening him a path right through it. With D close to his back, Harry sets on ahead, towards the last place, maybe the only place he'd ever called his home and meant it. Even when he'd been the last one there, surrounded by only the graves and ghosts of his kind... it had been home.

It had remained his home even as it had gotten too painful to stay.

They cross the moat and emerge on the other side, the small lake of acid closing up behind him. There the magic swells and whirls and as harry stares up at the castle, D gasps and falls to his knees.

"Harry," the dhampir gasps.

Harry reaches out a hand and touches D's shoulder, trailing his hand up to the invisible presence wrapped around his throat. "Let him go, please," he orders. "He's with me."

D gasps again, and then the grip on his neck relents and the dhampir can breath again. The invisible force retreats back into the moat – the ghost of what was once the biggest of all Giant Squids.

Harry looks after it, full of painful nostalgia, and then looks down. D's already back his normal, impassive self, quickly standing up again. Harry sighs – and then swings the Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders, wrapping it around D's instead. "Hold onto that. It should keep you from being harassed."

D looks down at the cloak and then tugs it shut around him. Harry can still see through it, and as would the defences and defenders of Hogwarts – but the cloak only obeys Harry. It can only rest on someone else's shoulders when Harry commands it.

Nodding in satisfaction, Harry turns back to the castle, and then leads D up the hill that can't be climbed. D lags behind for a moment, struggling against the invisible barrier, until harry reaches out and takes his hand in his, and the magic fades.

Together, they enter the castle grounds.

"... my lord..." a voice whispers.

"... Lord Potter..."

"... Lord Potter is back..."

"... welcome back, elder..."

"... welcome home, my lord..."

The castle ghosts – it's wraiths – surround them there, whirling around them in white and blue mass, reaching out their ghostly hands to touch Harry. D shudders under the onslaught but holds his ground, his hand gripping tighter around Harry's as the ghosts pass through him.

"... what is this..."

"... intruder..."

"...he's a vampire..."

"...why is there a vampire here..."

"... he has Lord's cloak..."

"... vampires are not allowed..."

"Leave him be, he's with me," Harry says, and the ghosts disperse around D, opening up a space around them. Harry sighs and then smiles at the ghosts. Some of them were once the school ghosts – but others had joined since. When they'd figured out that wizards were doomed... lot of them had chosen to stay in whatever form they could.

They've faded a lot since the last he'd seen them, losing their individuality, fading into indistinguishable blurs of white and grey and blue. They're still strong, though, still defending Hogwarts.

That's good.

"Come on," Harry says to D. "Let me show you around."

D breathes in and out slowly and then nods. He doesn't look too happy about it, but when Harry tugs at his hand, he follows.

Together, they explore the castle, it's long corridors and wide, empty halls, it's classrooms and apartments, towers and dungeons. Lot of it is just as Harry remembers it from thousands and thousands years ago, when he was a mere student in it's halls. Lot of it isn't, though.

They had to add a lot, to house the dying wizard population in their last years. New towers, new halls, new corridors – whole new wings. Hogwarts as it stands now, empty and habited only by the ghosts of it's former inhabitants, is almost three times bigger than the Hogwarts of Harry's childhood.

For a long while, Harry is silent, just taking in the paintings – that stopped moving centuries ago – and the armours and statues – that now patrol the halls in automated routines, clanking down the corridors in paths that have worn grooves into stone floor.

"We used to teach magic here," Harry says finally, and his words echo into the darkened, abandoned castle. "Every year, hundred wizards and witches would graduate from these halls, Hogwarts Alumnae. That was long ago, though."

"This is where Withering Siege took place," D says quietly.

"You know about it," Harry says and looks at him. "We're you there?"

D shakes his head. "I've only heard of it," he admits. "I thought this castle was destroyed then."

"I made sure it wasn't," Harry says and looks up at the vaulted ceiling. it's part of the older side of the castle – he'd ran down this corridor hundred times on his way to Quidditch practice.

The Quidditch field had been the first to go, when they'd started expanding the castle. No one had time or energy for games anymore.

They walk down the corridor hand in hand, leaving footprints into the ancient dust. after a while, Lefty speaks. "What happened to them?" he asks from D's other side, and D lifts his hand.

"Wizards?" Harry asks. "The Nobility erased us when they were doing their tinkering on humanity. They found the genes for magic and mangled them until there were no more muggle born wizards. Purebloods were already dead by then, of course."

"Muggle," D repeats.

"Magicless human," Harry shrugs. "No more those around either, not in the original form. The humanity now and the humanity back then are two different things."

D says nothing, turning to look ahead again. They're by the entrance hall now, under the clock. It's still going, ticking time away. it even looks accurate.

Harry stares at the big clock face, remembering a time when he used to hide up there. His head aches a little as, just for a moment, he's fourteen again, and he can remember Hermione and Ron – and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Azkaban was razed to the ground long before the Withering Siege begun, though.

"What are we doing here?" Harry whispers, staring at the clock, wishing it could turn back and put him back there, back into that moment, when he'd been one of many rather than the only one, and it hurts to be here, why is he here?

D sighs, and takes Harry's pointed hat off. Then he moves to stand behind Harry, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, resting his left hand on Harry's brow. "Being here makes it worse for you," he says grimly.

Harry swallows a sob and closes his eyes as Lefty breathes some life into his faded memories, lighting them up in a way he can't manage as human. "Why do you think I left?" Harry says and just breathes for a moment, leaning into D, into Lefty, letting them hold him up.

Then, once he's sure he can stand on his own power again, he exhales. "One more place," he says. "Come on.

D takes his hand again and follows him all the way through the silent, ghost riddled castle, through its empty corridors and halls, up stairs that haven't moved in eons, up, and up until they make their way to the foot of a golden griffin statue.

It moves aside slowly, it's metal grinding after so long of inactivity. Behind it, there is a staircase – and up it, there is the Headmaster's office.

It's empty now, empty except for the faded, unmoving portraits, their subjects sitting lifeless in their frames. Most of them lost their magic while asleep, so it now looks like someone had impressive collection of portraits of sleeping wizards and witches. It's almost funny – except... it isn't.

Harry approaches one of the portrait, one with golden frames. It's occupant isn't asleep – Albus Dumbledore stares into distance with troubled look on his face and for a moment it looks like he's still around... but he isn't moving.

D says nothing while Harry stares at the portrait. Dumbledore hadn't been the worst or the best Headmaster of Hogwarts, and like all the portraits he hadn't been able to keep up with the changing of times when vampires took dominion over earth... but he'd tried. It doesn't surprise Harry that he remained awake even when his magic finally faded.

"Ten thousand years," Harry mutters. "And I still wish he could explain me what the hell happened."

"When?" D asks.

"I don't even know," Harry sighs and runs hands over his face. "I don't know anything. Why am I here, why did I come back here?"

D is quiet for a moment, watching him with something painful in his eyes. Understanding, sorrow, sympathy... it looks terrible. "You came to say goodbye," he says quietly.

Harry inhales and exhales. Yeah, that sounds about right. "Goodbye," he says. "There, I said it. Can we go now?"

"That's up to you," D says and steps closer to him. Harry looks at him uncertainly as the dhampir takes his hand in his cool fingers. "Are you ready to go, Harry?" D asks, lifting Harry's hand and pressing his cool lips on Harry's knuckles.

Harry blinks, a little confused and entirely stricken. "You're beautiful," he murmurs and lifts his free hand to touch D's face. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with you," D says with a sigh and presses his left hand on Harry's forehead again. "Try and remember."

"Your beauty strikes me dumb, I can't help it. Knocks all sense right out of my head. You're with me?" Harry asks with exaggerated incredulity. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think it's about time we go," Lefty says with a laugh. "He's losing it."

D eyes Harry with something like fond exasperation and nods. "Come on," he says to Harry, winding his fingers amidst his. "Time to go back."

Harry casts a last look at the office, at the dead portraits. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Time to go."

* * *

 

Later, in a place where the Forbidden Forest had once stood, D stands in front of Harry, waiting on him. Harry's head is still reeling from Hogwarts, from magic and memories – and D is still wearing his invisibility cloak. It's all blurring together but Harry remembers. He knows.

"Changed your mind?" D asks quietly while Harry runs his hands over his face, over and over.

"Bite me, D," Harry sighs and rubs at his forehead. "My head aches."

D smiles a little, a strange mixture of grim fondness and regret. "Was it worth it, coming here?"

Harry looks up at him and then at the ghost of his past behind him. Hogwarts stands cold and empty against the darkening night sky, and it looks lonely and terrible. A snapshot of time that will never come back, a past that should really be left in past. Maybe one day Harry could let it go, let it fall to ruin, but for now...

For now he'd keep it just as it was – just as he remembers it.

"Yes," Harry sighs and turns to D. "Well?"

D looks at him seriously and then lowers his eyes from Harry's eyes, down to his neck. "Are you done now? Are you sure?" he then asks.

"Are you?" Harry asks and tilts his head a little, just to show more his neck, just to have D's eyes trail down his pulse point. "I mean, if you're sure you still want me freeloading around..."

"That's a good point," Lefty says. "He is a bit of a freeloader."

Harry smiles as D sighs, but then the dhampir takes a step closer and Harry's smile falls and his heart throbs hard in his chest. "I still want you," D agrees, touching his neck.

"Merlin, you can't just say that," Harry almost whimpers, and lets D tilt his head to the side. "Now I'm terrified and exited and aroused; it's too much for my little human heart to handle. Come on, put me out of my misery."

D almost laughs – his breath against Harry's neck is warm, and it sounds amused. "Are you sure?" he asks a final time.

"I trust you, D. I know you won't thrall me," Harry says and then then his eyes flutter shut as he feels D's lips on his neck, feels the first touch of his fangs, lengthening. "Though on the other hand," he breathes. "I guess I'm already enthralled."

"On the third hand," Lefty says. "You're not funny, and we should've ditched you ages ago."

"Silence in the peanut gallery," D says, taking Harry's right hand into his left one and pressing their palms together, muffling the parasite between them.

Harry laughs, breathless and alive and loving his life, and D bites down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. It's not perfect, but it is finished. Thanks for reading and commenting :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Harry Potter and Prisoner of the sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11652843) by [Reliz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reliz/pseuds/Reliz)




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